Only The Good
by Jamie Hook
Summary: Maybe it wasn't about cancer, or the March, or dying. Maybe mutants ARE the cancer. An abnormality. Unnatural. Maybe. But, cancers don't always eat away at the host. A story where love conquers all, even if it doesn't always seem like it. Romy. HAPPY END.
1. Prologue

_I tend to get angsty around Valentine's Day. So, this is a short, emotional break from my usual humor. Maybe it's just to see if I'm good at it. Don't worry folks, this'll be short and sweet… Well, not 'sweet' persay… _

_Sorry…_

_-_

There are several facts that are true of every human being. They breathe, sleep, eat, drink, crave, cry, and die. In fact, if you wanted to break it down, that's all a human being ever does.

It was silly to think that a mutant would be any different.

Mutants can love just like humans.

Mutants can get sick just like humans.

Mutants can die just like humans.

And those were the constant thoughts thrumming through the Xavier Institute on this very quiet, very cold, very grey day where the bitterly cold winds bit at any exposed flesh and tore at the bare trees, beckoning towards the thick grey sky which held the sun hostage, leaving the entire grounds dark and empty.

Ororo had made coffee that no one drank. Hank had made breakfast that no one ate. Both of them understood life _had _to go on. But the young and vulnerable couldn't grasp the concept. Jamie couldn't quell his sobs. John had fallen into an uncharacteristic, nearly comatose state where he could only stare at the fire blooming in the fire place with silent tears streaking down his face. Piotr had secluded himself in his room, sketching violently across canvases in dark colors, trying to convince himself that this was somehow his fault. Logan had turned to drinking, unsure of how he was supposed to respond. Scott kept brushing his teeth in an attempt to sponge the bitter taste of blood and tears from his mouth. Kitty hadn't spoken out loud. Kurt hadn't even spoken mentally. The entire house had seemed to stop functioning.

But, no matter where they stumbled in their distraught wanderings, all of them steered clear of door that signified the entrance to his domain.

That's where Rogue was. Curled on the spot of his bed she had long ago claimed her own, wrapped in clothing she had likewise established ownership of that technically belonged to him.

She felt sick.

Stomach turning every time she thought about it, throat burning from tears she held back and bile that had passed. Her teeth chattered constantly with the cold and the shudders of sobs suppressed.

"Can't cry." She mumbled, wrapping herself tighter in his deep red sheets. "Promised."

And she had. It had been the third to last thing he had forced her to say. Had forced her to promise.

The second to last had been that she would get out of there.

The last had been that she loved him.

Rogue bit her bottom lip. Hard.

"Can't cry." She stuttered, blood spilling from the place her teeth sunk in to her lip. "Promised him."

She burrowed her face into his pillows, inhaling deeply his scent, which was the only thing she had left of him. Yes, she had the clothes. Yes, she had the furniture and the room and the pictures, but she needed something more.

She needed the warmth of his body next to her, the comfort of his very presence. She needed the lilting music of his deep voice, soothing her into sleep when nothing else could. She needed the intoxicating aroma that surrounded him.

She had no more warmth.

She had no more music.

All she had left of _him _was the smell that clung to his space.

And soon, even that would fade.

"Can't cry." She repeated, shaking her head violently. "I promised." Her voice broke. "I promised."

But, she was fighting a losing battle. When the first tear came there was no end to the flood that washed over her, ripping sobs from her lungs, wracking her chest with screams.

Her tears left black stains across the pillowcases; make-up smearing.

She hadn't washed her face since the funeral.

-

_I'm working _really _hard to find some way to end this happily, but, since technically, this _is _the end, I don't think it's gonna work. Next Chapter- I'll start this story from the beginning. _


	2. Chapter 1

_Dear you, _

_I apologize for killing off your favorite character. I _do _realize that I am a horrible, horrible person. BUT (whoa-ho!) I HAVE A PLAN! My extensively creative (read:…I dunno, something un-flattering about how I should be institutionalized…) mind has come up with an extra-complicated, super-overdone loophole! Are you complaining? I found a way to appease both your and my thirst for happy endings… yayyy! (but that does mean this story just got hella long. Sorry.) _

_Also- I know nothing about cancer. I've never had cancer, and no one in my family has had cancer (we're more of a heart-disease, brain tumor type of folk) but, I did a lot of research to try and make this work, but if you spot any problems, feel free to tell me._

_This story makes me feel funny. :C I mean, I like, in a morbid sort of way, I just wish someone else had written it. _

_-_

_Two Weeks Earlier. _

Gretchen Mills had worked hard all of her life, deciding at an early age that she wasn't going to allow herself to get by on nothing but her big blue eyes and feminine qualities. She had grown up with the understanding you got what you gave out of each day, and what she strove to give each day was lives. She didn't care what the life was- dog, cat, man, mutant- if it was in danger she was willing to risk all to pull it out of the fire.

Which is why she had become a doctor.

Which is why she was standing in front of the man 'with the demon eyes', as her colleagues had described him upon his entrance into the hospital when they had refused to work with him. But, _she _would. Whether it was because she a little self-righteous, or because she was a little wet-behind-the-ears, she was standing there, test results in-hand.

"What ya' got f'r me, doc?" The man inquired in a thick accent she couldn't identify, looking up at her with his unique eyes and coughing slightly in his throat.

Gretchen clenched her teeth and clamped the folder in her hand until her knuckles turned white.

She hated giving bad news.

"I'm very sorry, Mr.-." She glanced at the folder in her hand. "Black." She finished as she moved to flick on the light under the X-rays she had put up. "This is the x-ray we took of your chest." She explained.

"Oh."

"You see the problem?"

"I'm assumin' those blobby t'ings aren't supposed to be there."

"No, they aren't." She tried not to wince as he coughed again, hearing it rattle in his chest. "You smoke?"

"Constantly."

"That's probably where this came from." She went back to inspecting the x-ray.

"Where _what _came from, doc?" He pressed.

Gretchen winced again.

She hated giving bad news.

"You have small cell lung cancer, Mr. Black." Gretchen finished lamely.

"Well," Remy LeBeau couldn't help but be a little stunned. Though he had known it wasn't going to be good news, he hadn't been expecting that. He spared a moment to be thankful he had gone out of his way to create a new identity and go out of state to find out about this. He didn't want any of them to know he was sick. "Hell."

There was a short pause where Gretchen allowed him to reel and recover.

"Is that different from a regular type of lung cancer?" He inquired after a few moments.

"Small cell is less common and much more aggressive than non-small cell. It spreads faster." Gretchen explained in simple terms regretfully. "Unfortunately, you already have fatal amounts of growth in your lungs."

"Ah." He allowed, a deck of cards finding itself between his fingers being shuffled expertly.

"I would advise seeing an expert, someone who can start you on chemo or radiat-." Gretchen started.

"No." Remy was already half-way through shrugging on his coat.

"What?" Gretchen did a double-take.

"No. _Non. Nien. Jok. Nut. Ingeno." _ Remy repeated in several different languages so as not to be misheard again, already stepping out the door. "Don't want it."

Gretchen stood for a moment like a deer in the head lights at his sudden and gruff departure before she set her chin and stomped out after him.

"Mr. Black!" She called.

Remy kept walking.

"Mr. Black!" She forced her way in front of him.

"_Que voulez-vous?_" Remy demanded. _What do you want?_

"_Pour sauver la vie!" _Gretchen snapped right back, thankful all of the sudden she had picked up French in college. "_Mais vous font qu'il est extrêmement difficile, Monsieur Black. Je vous serais reconnaissant si vous avez écouté à moi pour une seconde!" I'm trying to save your life! But you make it extremely difficult, Mr. Black. I would appreciate if you listened to me for a second!_

Remy glared at her speculatively for a moment before nodding his consent for her to continue.

"Chemotherapy is nothing to be afraid of," Gretchen started on the patented Doctor 'if we work together, you'll pull through' speech.

Remy snorted unprofessionally, interrupting her.

"Me _Tante _always taught me t' never speak crossly to a lady, so I'll curb my tongue f'r de moment, but I'll have you know that there are a lot of fine ways t' die. Lyin' in bed, singing 'woe is me' ain't the way I plan t' go." 

"Going through therapy doesn't make you a weak person!' Gretchen informed him, struggling to keep up as he started making his way out again.

"Turnin' it down doesn't make y' weak neither." He shot back.

"What about your loved ones?" She tried desperately to find something.

"Won't know." He called over his shoulder.

"So you're just going to allow yourself to die? In nearly constant pain just because you're too stubborn to go through therapy?" She demanded working her way in front of him again.

"Tell me," Remy sneered. "What's the success rate of chemotherapy?"

Gretchen felt herself flush. In between two and four percent of the patients given chemotherapy actually respond positively. But it was better that zero. And it gave hope. It was her understanding that hope was really the only thing that drove the sick to fight.

"When I die," Remy growled, understanding her silence correctly. "It's gonna be on _my _terms."

Gretchen didn't like the sound of that.

"Please," She scrambled about for a moment; rooting through the papers on the desk she had stopped him next to for pamphlets. Doctors had two things on their side. Pamphlets and big Latin words. "Just consider it." She held out the papers to him.

Remy hesitated a moment before pocketing the papers.

"I'll think about it." He lied.

Gretchen sighed in relief.

"Thank you." She smiled, moving out of his way.

Remy nodded and walked out the door.

-

He sat outside of the Mansion for a good while, straddling his bike and just watching the old place. It really was a beautiful building. It had character. There was a rhythm to it. Even from the outside you could hear the laughter echoing inside, the music thrumming, the screams and shouts and calls of the Xavier Institute that made the place feel like a home. Warm and welcoming.

This _was _his home. His family was here.

Sighing a heavy, well worn sigh that ended in a cough, Remy dismounted the motorcycle, another one of those bad habits that should have probably killed him, and stalked on up to the door.

"Gambit!" Jamie saw him first, face lighting up as he dropped everything and sprinted up to Remy.

Remy laughed as he picked up the kid and carried him under his arm into the kitchen before planting him on the counter so that they were eye-level.

"Miss me, _petit_?" He grinned.

"Yeah!" Jamie threw his arms up in to the air before tackling Remy to the ground in a hug.

"Oof!" Remy coughed and laughed at the same time, thinking about how in not too long Jamie was going to sprout up and be too big to tackle _anyone _with a hug.

He hated that he was going to miss that.

"Where'd you go?" Jamie asked when he gathered himself together.

"Away." Remy grinned.

"I know that." Jamie huffed.

"I think the better question is where has he _not _been." Piotr Rasputin smiled as he walked in with St. John Allerdyce, both of whom, along with himself, had 'reformed' when the Acolytes had disbanded.

"Why, Petey," Remy gave him a mock-affronted face, holding back a cough behind his clenched teeth. "Are you implying I have been t' some unsavory places?"

"Imply nothin'!" John cackled. "We've 'eard tha stories you've brought home, mate. You might as well be shakin' hands with the devil himself when it comes around to it."

"I suppose that's somethin' else t' consider." Remy muttered under his breath.

"What?" Jamie asked.

"Nothin'." Remy grinned as he righted Jamie and then himself. "Now, could one of you point me in the direction of _ma chere, s'il vous plaît." _

"She has retired early for sleep." Piotr explained. "It was my understanding that her head seemed to have been bothering her."

Remy nodded to them and dismissed himself, really wanting nothing more at the moment than to see her.

Climbing the stairs, he had a rare moment of emotional turmoil. The feel of the wood railing under his palm was worn with years of use, nearly soft under his rough skin, the contrast of his heat and the cool state of the wood left him a little stunned and confused. Thoughts of every hand that had graced that rail before assaulted him, causing him to look closer and see the old smudges of finger prints and the specific ware on the varnish where the pad of the thumb would hit the rail. Why hadn't he noticed these things before? Why did they seem so important now?

He wrinkled his nose, displeased that he was having these life changing emotions about stair rails.

"Don't have much of a life left." He chuckled bitterly, scaling the rest of the stairs without touching the rail.

His boots hitting the ground made a heavy sound in his ears as he made his way to Rogue's door, wondering what exactly he was going to say to her. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to _be. _

He wrinkled his nose again as he knocked on her door and cut off that train of thought. Now wasn't the time to be having philosophical revelations.

"_Chere?" _He called after a moment, then, not wanting to wake her if she were that far asleep, let himself in.

It was in a moment of confusion that he looked around her empty room, before grinning with understanding and some of his usual impishness.

-

Rogue looked cute in his bed. It was just a fact. She looked out of place and exactly where she belonged all at once curled up in his deep red sheets. The white of her hair spilled across his pillows, contrasting with the dark feel of the room. Her pale skin glowed in the darkness. Her unconscious smile was blissfully unaware.

He allowed his fingers to run through her hair, brushing it out of her face and tucking the locks behind her ear.

He wished she would open her eyes so that he could see them. Speak so that he could hear her. But, she was asleep, and he wasn't going to stir her for something as trivial as his want for companionship. For now, he was content to just watch her sleep. His hand rubbed soothing circles on her arm and across her back while he mumbled words to her, telling her stories of all the things the great Remy LeBeau wanted to do, the future he wanted to have.

"'M sorry, _chere," _He mumbled to her, catching a cough between his teeth.

Remy wondered why she squared herself away in his room when she was feeling sick. Maybe because she knew he would take care of her when he found her?

So, who was going to take care of her when he was gone?

Remy growled deeply in his throat and drew his hand away from her at this thought.

Who, indeed.

He eased himself away from the bed, pausing momentarily when she stirred, mumbled something incoherent, and snuggled herself back into his pillows.

That was the moment when he considered not leaving.

But, as it is with most things in this world, that moment ended.

He stripped off his jacket and laid it out over the chair, deciding that what he needed right now was a stiff drink and some blood.

He didn't notice the pamphlets he had stuffed into his coat pocket spill out over the floor as he sealed Rogue in the darkness of his room.

"Where're you goin', Gumbo?" Someone growled from behind him.

"Out f'r a drink," Remy turned to grin at Logan. "Care t' join me?" Remy sincerely hoped the man said no. There were times for drinking with buddies, and there were times for drinking alone. He was just going to assume if there were any time for the former, now was it.

Logan smirked at the kid, Gambit having grown on him since his arrival at the Institute. "Nah, I got a Danger Room session to run tonight with the new recruits."

"Ah," Remy grinned, clenching his teeth around a cough.

Logan's gaze became skeptical at the sound of the wheeze in his breath, which he had noted before, but seemed to be more pronounced today.

"You okay, Gumbo?"

"Peachy, _Monsieur _Claws." Remy attempted to grin at the man, most of his conversation for the day feeling forced and awkward.

"Hmm." Logan didn't seem convinced, but let the subject drop.

"Well, I'll be on my way then." Remy dismissed himself, feeling rather than knowing that Logan watched him all the way down the hall and out the door.

The cool air brushed against his bare arms as he closed the door behind him and for the first time since he had relocated to New York, he embraced the chill. Enjoyed the goose bumps that rose on his skin.

He wrinkled his nose for the third time that day.

He really wasn't liking the whole new perspective on things cancer was giving him.

Hell, he just didn't like cancer.

He looked down at his hands and was not at all surprised to find a deck of cards in one hand and a carton of cigarettes in the other.

"What did I ever do to you little bastards?" He inquired of the tobacco as he tapped out a stick and put it up to his lips, lighting it with a touch of his skin. Turning to walk to the motorcycle still parked in the driveway, he caught his reflection in one of the windows, smoke from the cigarette billowing away from him.

"What?" He asked his reflection. "Y' thought I was gonna stop just 'cause I'm dyin'?"

He shook his head ruefully as he finished his journey to the bike.

"_Non." _He sighed. "Wouldn't be my style to quit just 'cause death's comin', now would it?"

The motorcycle tore out of the drive way, destination resolute. The helmet and still smoldering cigarette left on the gravel behind.

-

"Gambit?" Piotr called, knuckles rapping lightly on the door to his friend's room, not wishing to disturb the man if he were sleeping or busy. "Remy?" He tried once more before he put his large hand on the door knob, hesitating another second before following the instructions he had always been given by his friend to just walk in whenever he needed to talk.

"Remy?" He repeated as he took a hesitant step in.

Something crinkled under his foot.

He looked down at the papers he had stepped on.

Rogue stirred from where she was curled on Remy's bed, breathing the first cleansing breath of waking. She had had a beautiful dream. Remy had been in it, but then again, he was in most of her good dreams. He had been telling her about the future. _Their _future. The concept sounded cheesey to her considering she had barely gained control of her mutation, but the _idea-_ the concept of any future at all with someone else, especially Remy, made her wriggle with happiness.

"Remy?" She called out sleepily as she heard movement around her.

"Uh-." Piotr looked up with wide eyes from where he was crouched on the ground, scrambling to collect the papers there. "No, it is not Gambit." He stood, obviously hiding something behind his back. "I was- I was," He stuttered, forgetting why he had come into the room in the first place.

"It's fine." Rogue dismissed drowsily, too tired to notice the unusual awkwardness of the Russian. "Have you seen Remy?" She yawned, wanting to tell him of her dream.

Piotr thought quickly of the papers behind his back and his best friend.

"No." He lied, the falsehood falling from his tongue with remarkable ease for someone who avoided lying like the plague. "He has not returned yet."

"Hmm." Rogue scrunched up her brow. "It's awful late of him to be out, isn't it?"

"_Da." _Piotr agreed. "I should be going." He backed out of the room, the papers held between his fingers almost burning him.

-

"Hey, mutie." The man to Remy's left snarled, distracting him, not for the first time, away from the bottle of bourbon in front of him. "I asked you a question, you freak."

Remy sighed, coughing.

"I mustuv missed it when I was busy ignoring you." Remy growled.

"I asked you if you had a death wish, you mutant freak!"

A dark smile stretched across Remy's lips as he finished off the bottle in his hands and crushed out the cigarette that had been perched upon his lips under the heel of his boot.

"Y'know," Remy turned to the man for the first time, expertly flipping the bottle from base to neck around in his fingers. "A death wish just may be exactly what I have."

Her brought his arm up and smashed the base of the bottle one the bar, which he knew would end up being the only motive that the natives of that notoriously anti-mutant bar needed to start some trouble.

-

_No, he's not gonna die in a bar fight. Would I do that to you? (The answer is 'No', in case you were questioning my love of Remy...) I have a new plan, I tell you! NEW PLAN! _

_*sniff* Ima go write something funny now. :C You can just blame Valentine's Day. _


	3. Chapter 2

_Jamie: is pissed about being so late on this. Like some sort of kraken rising out of the depths of a deep ocean, wrenching its jaws open to reveal hundreds of razor sharp teeth that reek of rotten flesh as it emits ground-shattering scream that signals the beginning of its new quest for bloooooood! _ That's_ how pissed I am. (That's also probably the reason I don't have more friends on this site. …I just compared myself to a kraken...) _

_You: are pissed at Jamie for being a kraken while writing. (It's horribly difficult to type with tentacles.) _

_This Story: will have a happy ending. Just repeating. Happy ending is happy! HAPPY, I TELL YOU! _HAPPY!

_Again, sorry this took me so long to get this out. I was busy… (being a kraken.)To make it up, this chapter is longer than my attention span. (…Think about it…) _

_-_

His head whipped to the side as another set of knuckles collided with his chin, sending him stumbling to the ground, tripping over one of the eight men he'd already knocked unconscious. He worked his jaw to make sure it wasn't broken and no teeth had been displaced.

"You had enough, mutie?" The man in front of him growled, wiping his knuckles free of blood on his jeans.

Remy grinned down at the ground, coughing harshly.

"No," He looked up at the man, still grinning like a fool. "No, I don't think I have."

"No?" The man repeated, more out of shock than anything else. "_No?" _He said again, jaw falling open.

"Now," Remy grunted as he used a bar stool as leverage to pull himself into an upright position. "The better question is- What're y' gonna do about it?" He cocked his head to the side, antagonizing the boy with his grin.

Why?

Well, Remy wasn't really caring about 'Why' at the moment, 'Why the hell not?' seeming like a better question to him. He wanted a fight. A decent knuckle-busting, bone-breaking, life-threatening fight. And, by god, he was gonna get one.

Why?

Why not?

"C'mon," He waved his hands in an encouraging fashion. "Y' know y' wanna start somethin', boy, so start it."

The kid's eyes flicked to the men lying on the ground, indecision written across his features. He _wanted _to throw down, that much was obvious by the wicked fire in his eyes. He wanted something similar to what Remy wanted, only for a slightly less complicated reason- he just needed a little more encouragement.

"Oh, I get it," Remy smirked. "Y'r afraid of the big bad mutant, is that it?" He provoked.

Why?

Why not?

"What d'ya got t' lose?" Remy inquired, lips angling upwards in a vicious line. "Hell, you jerk that blade you've been itchin' t' get at, y' may even come out on top." He informed the boy.

The boy's fingers scratched at his pocket, eyes darting about nervously as he continued to hesitate.

"_Mon __Dieu_, boy! Am I gonna havta give y' a _reason_?" Remy groaned, quickly growing impatient. When had it gotten so hard to get into a good fight these days?

His hand flew out at a nearly incomprehensible speed, snatching up a bottle from the bar next to him. The bottle started to glow a violent fuchsia.

Why?

Why not?

Remy let the bottle tumble out of his fingers.

"You sonovabitch!" The kid shouted as the bottle combusted, shards of glass flying everywhere, one hand flew to protect his face as the other dug into his pocket.

Remy bared his teeth it what could have been construed as a smile under the proper circumstances. As it so happened, these were exactly what he deemed 'the proper circumstances' at the moment.

"I'll kill you, you mutie bastard!" The boy flipped out a black-handled blade from his pocket, that obviously having been the straw that broke the camel's back. "I kill you!" He lunged forward, knife first.

Remy braced himself.

A shotgun blast exploded, beckoning their attention.

"Do I have your attention?" The old man in the doorway asked calmly, the smoke floating from the shotgun perched on his shoulder wafted through the air, thick with threats. "You alright?" He looked over at Remy.

"Duke!" The kid interrupted. "He's a mutant! Shoot 'im, Duke!"

"I ain't gonna shoot anyone that stands still." 'Duke' growled. "That includes you." The gun swung to face the kid, who suddenly became very shy. "Now, son, I'm gonna ask you again," Duke turned back to Remy. "You alright?"

Remy nodded, eyes shifting around warily. The blood from his lip smeared down his chin as he frowned. What was going on? This wasn't right.

"You can loosen up that stance of yours, kid- no one here's gonna hurt ya." He sent a withering look at anyone still conscious. "Isn't that right, boys?" It was noted how his finger pressed against the trigger.

"Yes, sir!" A quick and prompt response was offered as all still conscious fled the bar.

Remy slowly uncoiled his strained muscles, still mildly wary as he eyed the old man.

"Now, son," Duke grunted with the aches of old age as he lowered his weapon and took a seat at a nearly destroyed table with broken bottle and blood smeared across it and poured himself a drink, gesturing for Remy to sit across from him. Remy hesitated a moment but, never one to turn down a drink, took the seat. "I don't know what exactly made you come here tonight," Duke continued wisely. "Maybe your wife left ya, maybe your best friend died- hell, maybe you're just stupid- like I said, I don't know." He stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully as he spoke. "But I know what you're lookin' for, son. Been there myself. What you're aching for is a good story for someone to tell at your funeral." He stopped to sip at his drink, considering his words wisely as Remy scrutinized the old man, attempting to decide if he was on his side or not. "I'm just gonna tell ya that no one here's gonna give it to ya. These men are as yellow as they come. Even if you get your funeral, there won't be any good stories."

"What're y' sayin'?" Remy asked scathingly. "My way out ain't worth it?"

Duke chuckled.

"Now, I know if someone had tried to tell me that when I was in your shoes, I would have very kindly suggested they shove it out their ass." He mused. "So, I'm not gonna say that. What I'm sayin' is, find a better story. This isn't the way you wanna go out, son." He nodded knowingly. "But, I do know by the look in your eye that there is a young lady somewhere that's not going to be very pleased you ain't home."

Remy smiled lightly.

_**-**_

Rogue inhaled the soft air of the room slowly. It was cool and sweet as it carried itself through the window and brushed against her skin, tugging at her senses for subtle attention. The sound of a thousand crickets competing for the consideration of a lover was carried on that wind. The untainted scent of freshly cut grass and night floated in on the breeze. The stars speckled the sky, leaving glimmering reflections in her bright eyes. Her lips curved unconsciously as she wound her fingers around in the deep red sheets she was still snuggled in, not because she was blissful in this particular moment, which she just so happened to be, but because she was allowed to have that moment of pure existence. A moment where she appreciated everything she saw and heard.

Yes, she was still the scowling, snapping, scary Rogue who did what she pleased when she pleased, but, even rogues were allowed a moment to gaze at the stars.

Without her consent, her moment was cut short by the roar of a motorcycle engine.

She sat up straight in his bed, tapping her fingers against her thighs as she contemplated how exactly she was going to react to that motorcycle engine and the man she knew for sure was controlling it.

She could be coy and wait for him to come to her.

She could be sulky and snap at him for being late.

She could be roguish and do something completely unexpected like sprint downstairs, bound out into the driveway and kiss him.

"Well," She grinned, slipping out from between the sheets. "If I'm anything, it's Rogue-ish."

She attempted to keep her footfalls silent as she creeped her way into the hall, smile curving across her lips as she crouched in the shadows. As soon as she was sure that no one had heard her leave his room she hit the ground running, racing herself to the bottom of the staircase. She barely stopped to wrench open the door and throw herself out onto the walk. She looked around for barely a half second before she took off for the garage, her grin practically splitting her face.

"Remy!" She called as she took the corner into the garage at top speed. Her eyes widened ad her progress ground to a halt when she saw the young man ambling away from his motorcycle.

"_Chere," _Remy grinned around a cigarette at her, blood smearing down his chin from his busted lip.

"What happened to you?" Her brows furrowed with confusion and concern. She took a tentative step forward as if her very presence could harm him further.

Remy was grimly proud of the state he was in, feeling that he earned every bruise scattered across his frame. His eye was black, his lip was swollen and split, his hair was slick with rum and blood, broken glass had settle in the creases of his clothes, there were wide gashes on his knuckles, and so many black and blue splotches he could pass as a leopard if he felt so inclined.

"A little brawl 's all." He attempted to dismiss casually, covering a cough with the back of his hand.

"Are you alright?" She took another step forward, watching him carefully. Her good mood shifted away, replaced by wariness. Something was off about him. She could see it in his eyes.

"'M fine," He smiled at her tenderly, a slight tic in his jaw.

Rogue's eyes narrowed. She could smell a Remy LeBeau lie from a mile away.

"Are you sure?" She asked with a slight scathing undertone, stepping forward.

"Positive." He smirked, sensing her game and still taking a step to match hers, only in the opposite direction. There was an almost audible rhythm as they each took up their own sides of the very familiar repartee they had going with each other. It was like a dance they knew by heart even though the music always changed.

"You smell like rum." She noted, taking another step.  
"So do a lot of people." Remy countered, taking a step as well so that they were effectively circling each other.

"'A lot of people' don't come home from two days off doing '_something_' black an' blue." Rogue observed.

"Well, 'a lot of people' ain't me." Remy replied smartly, enjoying the banter while it lasted.

"So I've noticed." She looked him over, hunting for some sort of tell.

"I find it's one of my more attractive qualities." He grinned, stuffing his hands in his pockets so she wouldn't see his fingers tremble as he skillfully attempted to herd the dance in a different direction.

"You would," Rogue snorted with a small, slightly sarcastic, smile playing across her lips as they continued circling each other, each of them waiting for the other to slip up in some way. Remy wanted to hear her laugh. Rogue wanted to hear him tell the truth.

"What? You don't think I'm attractive?" He pretended to be affronted by the notion.

Rogue rolled her eyes, not giving up on her goal so easily as to be distracted by his usual tricks. "Try again, Cajun." The dance continued.

"Where should I start?" Remy pondered.

"The beginning?" Rogue suggested.

"Right," Remy grinned and Rogue caught her mistake before he even spoke the next words. "Well, when a mommy and a daddy-."

"I meant where you went." Rogue interrupted.

"Ah," Remy grinned wider. "Y' should've been more specific." He informed her.

"That wasn't an answer." She pointed out.

"Y' didn' ask a question." He shot right back, figuring if he couldn't make her laugh the conversation off, he could get her frustrated to the point she would just stop asking questions at all. She wouldn't like the answers to them.

Obviously, his newer ploy was working as she snorted with fury and stomped her foot, faltering the steps of the dance.

"Would ya' jus' give me a straight answer for once in yah life, Remy LeBeau!" She shouted.

"It's better that I don't." He assured her, stepping forward and pressing his lips softly against her cheek to comfort her that he wasn't upset with or blaming her for being peeved with him.

As usual, Rogue caved when he kissed her, rolling her eyes at how soft she had become because of him and pausing only a moment to wipe away the bloody smudge the kiss had left on her cheek.

"Come on," She sighed with a small smile playing across her lips as she laced her fingers with his. "Let's go get you cleaned up." She pulled him forward towards the mansion.

Remy smiled softly as he followed her, taking the opportunity to try and commit every detail of her to memory.

Rogue was honestly surprised he hadn't had some sort of crude suggestion to go along with her proposition. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable that something as simple and mundane as raunchy jokes seemed like the world when he didn't rise to the occasion. She knew there was something wrong with him; she just couldn't put her finger on it.

"Where we goin'?" Remy asked as soon as he realized they had bypassed the staircase.

"Down to the med bay," Rogue explained softly, still brooding.

Remy shifted uncomfortably but tried not to let it show. He hadn't had the best luck with hospitals lately. "Hm." Was all he added as she pulled him along with her.

"It'll be alright," She nudged him with her elbow.

Remy doubted it, but smiled just for her.

He was so busy attempting to please Rogue; he didn't even notice the large Russian figure step out into the hall from the kitchen where he had been waiting up.

-

_My goodness, I am just slathering on the original characters this story, aren't I? I liked Gretchen, too. I do hope we'll see more of her. (Catty foreshadowing? Me? Never!)The next chapter will be up sooner rather than later, I swear! _


	4. Chapter 3

_I highly suggest comparing oneself to a kraken. It's quite therapeutic._

_Well, it seems that I lied about being fast at that whole 'updating' thing, but it was for ther better, I assure you._

_Hey, guess what? THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING. (That is not emo. Just sayin'.)_

* * *

Part of Piotr's job, and ultimately- his personality-, was to be observant. With that particular trait came the horrible responsibility of what happened when you observe something you would have rather not.

He sat at the counter with his elbows propped up, forehead resting in his open palms, cup of coffee nudging his elbow growing cold as he continued to ignore it. His eyes scraped over the glossy papers laid out in front of him for what felt like the thousandth time.

The words still hurt.

_But,_he assured himself again, _Gambit would not have kept something of this magnitude from me. Perhaps something else is happening._

The excuse sounded feeble even in his own ears.

He sighed dejectedly, face crumpling in pain.

After a few moments his fist clenched and his teeth ground together. "Why did he not tell me?" He demanded of the coffee cup and pamphlets.

As he expected, they didn't have an answer.

After the few moments of silence, the sound of the door opening was almost deafening. The voices drifting in from the front of the mansion, even more so.

Piotr rubbed his eyes and pushed himself away from the counter, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped as he slowly made his way to the door.

"Where we goin'?" A thickly accented voice that Piotr recognized immediately filtered through the air.

"Down to the med bay." Came the reply which was very nearly physically dripping with adoration.

Piotr took a deep breath.

"It'll be alright," Rogue assured Remy the very moment Piotr opened the door to the kitchen. Piotr winced internally, hoping that somehow he would just disappear before he had to confront his responsibilities.

"Oh, hey Pete,"

No such luck.

"Rogue," Piotr tried not to be awkward in his greeting, but it was a skill he had yet to master.

"You alright?" Rogue creased her eyebrows in concern, already practically supporting one man already. She didn't know if she had enough energy to take care of two.

Piotr set his jaw and squared his shoulders. He was going to do this, and he was going to do this well.

"I am needing to speak with Gambit." He stated strongly. "Privately."

"Y' sure y'r alright?" Remy pulled Rogue closer to himself, unwilling to let go without a very good reason. Though Colossus had a knack for being shy and quiet, he was rarely stiff or terse. Any hint of Piotr being so automatically put Remy on guard.

"I was just reading some interesting literature that I require your help to understand." Piotr emphasized each word importantly.

"Literature?" Remy picked up on his discomfort, sensing the slight undercurrent of anger. Another word that was rarely associated with the Russian. Something was amiss.

"I understand the correct term would be _'medical pamphlet'_." A thinly veiled accusation was hidden behind those words.

Remy shifted uneasily, subtly checking his pockets. He was quick to connect the dots as his pockets turned up empty. His eyes narrowed.

"Remy?" Rogue looked up at him, noting his sudden uneasiness.

"Nothin' t' worry 'bout, _chere."_Remy assured her quickly. "Me an' Petey jus' need t' have a little _chat."_His eyes burned.

"It is most important." Piotr assured her calmly.

"_Oui."_Remy agreed darkly. "This be a conversation me an' Pete need t' have on our own."

Piotr didn't need to see the look on Rogue's face to know that she was bristling. He didn't have to see the look in her eye to know that she knew something was up. He didn't have to watch her throw a dark look over her shoulder as she strode away. He knew they all were there without looking.

On the other hand, he had no idea what the burning centers of Remy's eyes were trying to tell him.

"Shall we?" Remy ground out after he listened to Rogue climb the stairs.

Piotr nodded stiffly as he let his friend slip past him. With one last deep sigh he followed.

"Why did you not tell me of this issue?" Piotr demanded as soon as the door swung shut.

Remy cast a sharp look over his shoulder as he picked the lock on the liquor cabinet, blood from his frown dripping onto the floor as he stayed stationary long enough for it to fall. "What 'issue'?"

"You know what I am speaking of." Piotr snatched one of the pices of paper off the counter and brandished it in Remy's direction.

Remy's eyes narrowed dangerously as he dragged a bottle of rum from its hiding spot.

"What exactly makes y' think that's mine?" He inquired after recomposing his face. There was still a chance he could talk himself out of this one.

"I found it on your floor." Pitr gritted his teeth, knowing he was going to have to drag an answer out of Remy.

"Hmm." Remy levered the cap off the bottle with his teeth. "Maybe someone I know has an issue that pertains t' those particular pamphlets."

"Do you know of anyone who smokes half a pack a day and has been coughing up blood after practice sessions?" Piotr snorted. It took a good deal of effort to make Piotr angry, but after an entire afternoon of stewing and brooding, almost physically pained by the conclusions he was being forced to draw, Remy was teetering on the edge of his patience.

"Can't say that I do, Petey." Remy said sarcastically as he took a swig from the bottle, not looking at Piotr.

There was a moment of silence where only the grinding of Piotr's teeth and the soft swish of alcohol being drained from a bottle could be heard before Piotr wrenched the bottle out of Remy's hand, knocked the window open with his elbow, and then hurled it out the window with a small grunt of effort. They both stared out into the darkness until the sound of breaking glass echoed up.

"The hell?" Remy demanded.

"I wanted your full attention," was all Piotr replied.

"Well! Y' certainly-." Remy started to shout, only to be cut off as a cough tore itself from his throat.

That cough led to another until Remy was doubled over on the ground, gasping for air between each hack, hunching his shoulders in pain.

Piotr sprung into action, his concern far outweighing his anger as he yanked Remy upright, pushing him in the direction of the sink as he started to cough up blood.

It was a few minutes before Remy could quell his coughing fit.

"Are you sure you don't know of anyone that could be using the help described in those papers?" Piotr inquired softly, pushing a glass of water towards Remy.

Remy turned on the sink, washing away the red that had stained the basin.

"'M sorry." He muttered after a moment.

Piotr nodded lightly. "I think that you attempt to take on problems that appear to be so much larger than yourself and you refuse to let people who care about you to get close because you are afraid they will get injured in the process. What you do not seem to understand is-."

"Y' ever been afraid, Petey?" Remy interrupted suddenly, having obviously not been paying attention.

"I..." Piotr's brow crinkled at the question. Remy knew well that Piotr had been afraid before. It had been fear that had driven him to work for Magneto. Fear for his family. It had been fear that had prompted him to confront Remy in the first place- fear for a friend.

"I was afraid once." Remy turned to stare out of the window, stars reflecting in his dark eyes. "Back 'fore Jean Luc found me." He elaborated. "I was afraid of damn near everything. I was a kid who was just too old f'r my age. Always knew where people's hands were, stayed in corners, didn't speak much, knew where the exits were. Jean Luc caught on real quick that I wasn't about t' stick my neck out f'r anyone. I wouldn't even stick my neck out f'r myself. Then one day he sat me down. You know what he said t' me?" Remy finally looked over his shoulder and acknowledged Piotr existence.

"What?"

"He said 'Remy, y' got a lot of people countin' on ya', son. This ain't no time t' be afraid. Bein' afraid ain't gonna get y' no place but a shallow grave without a service. This is a time to set y' jaw and do work. I know y'r a little young f'r me t' be askin' y' t' be a man, but I need y', Remy. We're y' family. We all need y', Remy. Remember these things, son: There ain't no better way t' die than with a grin on y'r face, and only the good die young.'" Remy spat as he continued to stare out of the window, an undertone of bitterness running through every word. "I never forgot that."

Piotr sat, nearly winded by this sudden flood of information and insight. Remy had never been very open about his past. In fact, this was the first Piotr had ever really heard Remy speak about his family.

"Do y' get it, Pete?" Remy turned on him suddenly. "I ain't allowed t' be afraid. I ain't allowed t' fail. Not here. Not ever. I can't tell you what's wrong. I can't tell anyone what's wrong. That'd be admittin' I was afraid. That'd be letting my family down." The red of his eyes blazed. "And I ain't never let my family down when I could help it."

Understanding started to dawn on Piotr.

"You… you are not going to get help, are you?" He asked after a few moments.

"As far as anyone here is gonna know is that I'm gonna have a brave accident."

"Brave accident?" Piotr's core ran cold with fear.

"Haven't yet figured what it's gonna be." Remy sighed and ran his hand down his face.

Piotr sat, stunned into silence.

"What about Rogue?" He finally squeezed out.

Remy hesitated a moment, but only a moment. If he thought he was going to let down the people he considered family by being weak that went double for Rogue.

"Won't know."

Piotr put his forehead in his palms again. This was simultaneously the dumbest and most insightful conversation he had ever had.

"I gotta ask somethin' of y', Pete." Remy said after a few moments.

"Anything." Piotr assured him.

"Don't tell anyone." Remy said shortly as he collected the papers strewn across the counter, not giving them a second look as they took on a magenta hue before he cast them out of the window. There was a small _crack_a few moments later that told him they were gone forever.

Piotr sat still for a few moments before nodding silently. "_Da."_He agreed. He had been afraid before. If there had been anything he thought he could have done right at the time to make sure no one knew he was afraid, he would have –and did, at one point- given his freedom. Remy had a situation that went two steps further, and thus he was taking his response two steps further than Piotr had. "Just tell me if there is anything I can help you with." He begged.

"Right now I could use a little help gettin' up the stairs." Remy grinned through a short cough, wiping at the dried blood across his chin.

Piotr cracked a small smile as he helped his friend limp forwards out of the door. "We should be moving." He agreed. "We have a Danger Room session tomorrow morning, do we not?"

"Technically, it would be this mornin'." Remy threw in as he glanced at the clock.

"Is there any way you could not particip-." Piotr started to ask, only to be muffled by the force of Remy's glare. "I understand. No fear." He sighed, pushing Remy up the stairs.

* * *

After she was sure they were both gone, Rogue crawled out of the shadows behind the kitchen door, confusion and hurt spelled out across her face as she phased through the wall. But, try as she might, she couldn't find a single scrap of those pamphlets Remy and Pete had been talking about. They had never mentioned what was wrong. They had never mentioned any of the secrets she felt were building up against her.

"A brave accident." She repeated softly, confusion and despair pulling at the tears held just behind her eyes. This wasn't right. None of this was right.


	5. Chapter 4

_I was gonna roll right on in to the next day, but I just had an idea for a sort of sweet moment (I think it was Chica De Los Ojos Café's fault. She reviewed and this sort of popped into my head.) Sorry this chapter's so short._

_

* * *

_

Rogue's eyes glazed over in thought as she sat, hunched, in the shadowed corner. Her pale fingers continued to twine and untwine in her lap as she brooded, the action having long since grown into repetitive manifestation of her vexation and near-grief. When she finally noticed the small action her eyes widened with shock and she quickly set about smoothing her fingers over her pajama bottoms to keep them from fretting. However, her bare hands found themselves being tangled together again as she continued to worry herself sick.

She was at a stalemate with herself.

On the one bare, pale hand- Rogue _knew_ exactly how to get at the things she wanted to know.

On the other, gloved hand- she _knew _she was going to be sick with herself if she actually got it that way.

But…

_But what? _She scolded herself, balling up her hands into fists. _But nothin'! You ain't gonna use your powers just to steal information from him!_

She set her jaw in resolve and nodded her head.

But…

_But this is his fault… _She laced her fingers together again, picking at the seams on her one glove. _No one could blame me if I just… touched him. Just a little touch…_

She bit her lip and threw her eyes over to the figure tossing and turning on the bed. He muttered something unintelligible in his sleep, twisting again as he clashed with the demons in his nightmare. The tingles running across her skin told her that her mutation was active.

_Just a little touch…_

She slipped out of the shadows.

_He wouldn't even know._

She crept silently up to his bedside.

_Just…one…little…touch…_

She spread her hand in the air above his exposed face.

…But…

_But… what if he's not telling me for my own good?_

Her hand flew to her mouth where she bit on her nails nervously. Her stomach twisted with indecision and nerves.

He groaned out another undistinguished word, rolling over so that his back was to her.

_Hafta know. _She decided, gritting her teeth against the doubts in her final decision. _Gotta know._

With the smallest hints of hesitance Rogue fanned out her bare fingers once more. Her hand began to close in on his brow.

He continued to suffer in his sleep.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, but her hand continued to carve a way through the air- she didn't want to watch.

"R…" He stuttered out in his sleep, coughing. "Ro…"

She could practically feel the heat rolling off of him as her skin nearly brushed against his.

"Rogue." Remy mumbled.

Rogue's eyes snapped open. Heat flooded to her cheeks.

He was dreaming about her.

Well, she couldn't just suck the life out of him after _that._

Her hand finally met his face as she brushed hair off his forehead harmlessly, the tingles having dissipated from her skin.

"It's no fair that you're even kinda charmin' in your sleep." She muttered, scooting on to the bed next to him.

He continued to lash out at invisible demon, but Rogue hushed him gently, running her finger through his hair until he was coaxed into a sounder sleep, humming under her breath.

"This don't mean I ain't gonna steal the answers from you." She informed him in a yawn. "I just ain't gonna steal 'em _tonight." _She closed her eyes sleepily.

_

* * *

_

_I don't do these 'sweet' things real well. It's probably because I didn't get enough love in my childhood. Just sayin'._


	6. Chapter 5

_I skipped ahead a couple of chapters and drafted how I thought I was gonna kill my favorite character. _

_After sobbing my eyes out, eating a small tub of ice cream, and generally feeling like a terrible person I decided that that was a horrible idea. _

_Even looking at this story made me sick after that .That's why it took me so long. I had to grow a pair and finish writing this damn story. Because Jamie Hook does not quit stories. Period. I'm gonna finish this story (WITH A HAPPY ENDING) even if I literally turn into a kraken by the end. _

* * *

There was a sharp knocking that shot him out of his sleeping state. The sharp sunlight shooting through his curtains scorched his eyes the second they snapped open and he immediately regretted drinking last night.

"What is it?" Remy mumbled groggily as he kneaded at his eyes. He didn't even pause to take in his surroundings.

"We must be in the Danger Room in six minutes." Piotr's voice filtered from the other side of the door.

"I hear y'." Remy called back in a half-groan.

_Good. _He thought as he settled himself back in his warm sheets. _That gives me five more minutes to sleep. _

He sighed contentedly as he settled his head right back where it had been before Piotr had knocked. For a few seconds he closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence of the early morning.

And then, the pillow moved.

Remy's eyes snapped open. He contemplated for a moment if he wanted to know until curiosity got the better of him and he looked up.

She looked beautiful. Her pale cheek was pressed against his blood red sheets and her two toned hair spilled over her face in curls. Her lips were parted slightly to allow her soft breathing. She was snuggled in to one of his shirts.

_When did she sneak in here? _He wondered, tallying this up to another one of the reasons he should enjoy this particular morning.

"_Chere," _He chuckled, snaking his arms around her waist. "Time t' get up, _chere." _

"Ten mo' minutes." She mumbled and snuggled into Remy's chest.

"In ten more minutes we're gonna be late for our training session." He chuckled, running his finger through her hair.

She finally opened her eyes and considered this for a moment.

"Good." She grinned and rolled back over.

"And then the Wolverine's gonna get pissy." He reminded her in sing-song, nuzzling her shoulder gently.

"Let 'em." She ground out.

"And then we're gonna havta pay our penance, _chere." _He crooned into her ear.

She sighed and opened her eyes again, taking a moment to stare out into the clear blue sky of the morning through the open window, savoring it in much the same way Remy had only moments ago.

"Don't we all?" She finally mumbled.

Remy froze.

Those words struck a chord in the center of his chest, causing a sore 'twang' to reverberate across the inside of his ribs.

_We all have to pay our penance. _The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. What was he going to have to pay at the end of the day? What was the life he led going to cost him in the end?

Remy clenched his fist until his scabbed knuckles turned white. His eyes darkened and his lips assumed a thin, scornful, line. It wasn't fair. His life wasn't fair. His death wouldn't be fair. And worse yet, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He ground his teeth together, anger rising in his chest.

"Rems?"

He looked up to find Rogue staring at him, concern so deep set in her eyes it practically assumed its own color.

"You're scaring me…" She whispered and he realized he had accidentally charged his bed.

He quickly reabsorbed the charge.

"Come'ere." He beckoned her forward, swallowing down his motions just for her.

She crawled across the bed until she crushed herself into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her securely.

"Don' you dare be afraid." He said firmly, kissing the top of her head. "I promise you that nothing bad is gonna happen."

He wasn't sure if that was a lie or not, but he said it with such solid determination he practically convinced himself.

Rogue looked up at him and he could see that she _wanted _to believe him so badly that she would pretend that she did.

"You would tell me if something was wrong, right?" She asked after a moment.

"Absolutely," _not. Not this time. _

She smiled with relief. "Come on, we gotta go or we're gonna be late."

"Right, right." He groaned, rolling out of bed, taking her, giggling and screeching, with him. They both hit the floor with an 'Oof!'.

"Swamp rat!" Rogue laughed, rubbing her backside where she had struck the ground.

"Go get on y'r uniform." He waved her out the door. "And clear y'r schedule. We're goin' out later!" he informed her.

"Fine, fine, fine." She sighed, giving him one last wistful look before she exited.

Remy waited until the door was fully closed before sprinting to the bathroom and coughing up blood into the sink.

* * *

Piotr Rasputin crossed his arms over his wide chest, his observant eyes set on the front door of the Danger Room.

"Where's your buddy at?" Logan grumbled from his spot at the front of the small congregation of students.

"I do not know." Piotr admitted, though Rogue wasn't there either, and that probably explained more than it left up for speculation. However, Piotr had informed Remy that they had a Danger Room session in six minutes ten minutes ago.

"Well, he better show up soon or-." Logan started to grind out his run-of-the-mill threats, not even bothering to come up with something for Rogue because everyone knew he didn't have balls enough to carry those threats out.

The sound of an automatic door hissing open interrupted him and everyone turned in unison to watch Rogue and Gambit, chatting animatedly to each other as they walked in four minutes late, which might as well have been an eternity in Danger Room time.

"Glad to see you two finally decided to show up." Logan crossed his arms over his chest, earning the two new comer's attention.

"My fault." Rogue stepped up. "I asked Remy to make me some breakfast." She lied easily.

Remy stayed uncharacteristically silent, neither adding nor taking away from the lie like he normally would have. In fact, everyone had been mildly surprised Remy hadn't jumped in with any assortment of suggestions that would have explained their tardiness in a more … _creative_ … manner.

"Well," Logan rolled his shoulders in a predatory manner. "If the Cajun likes to cook so much he just earned himself dinner duty for tonight."

Piotr noticed how everyone in the background silently cheered. This was really less of a punishment for Remy for being late and more of a reward for everyone else for being on time. Remy was, without a doubt, the best cook in the house, having a sworn hatred of fast food, constantly declaring that 'Good food takes soul'.

Remy nodded his acceptance of his 'punishment'.

"Good." Logan allowed in a grunt. "Now, let's get back to business. Today we're gonna run a simulation to test endurance. To stay in you need to avoid gettin' tagged by the orange paint. Gradually the simulation's gonna get harder as you go along. It only ends when the last person gets tagged out. Understand?"

Most everyone nodded.

"Good." Logan grunted again. "Now, I'm gonna split you int' two teams. Team 1: Cyclops, Jean, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Gambit. Team 2: Rogue, Pyro, Shadowcat, Iceman. Team 1 goes first."

Piotr sighed with relief. He was on Gambit's team. Deep down he would have liked to believe that meant it would be easier for him to be there if his friend needed him but as he looked over at his friend and saw the cold, hard grin that stretched across his face, he knew that Remy needed at the moment was for him to get out of the way.

"Good luck." He heard Rogue mumble to Remy before she exited the Danger Room along with the others, leaving Scott, Jean, Remy, and himself stranded in the middle of the cold steel room.

"Alright," Cyclops stepped up, his usual determination set in his brow. Scott Summers does not do things half-cocked. He does not do things half-way. It is all the way or no way with Cyclops. Failure is not an option. 'Incomplete' _is not an option. _If he did something, he did it well or he died trying. It was one of the thing Piotr admired about him. "You two watch each other's backs and Jean and I will do the same. I want to get to at least level five, higher if we can manage, without anyone getting tagged out. If your partner is tagged out, I will hold _you _responsible. Understood?" He phrased it like a question, but it was really a demand.

Jean and Piotr nodded. Remy shuffled his cards fluidly, a sort of predatory grace surrounding him, his cold silence speaking volumes.

"Good." Scott rolled his shoulders and set his jaw.

Piotr did the same, hoping it would give him confidence. It didn't, but he felt he looked tougher, and that made him feel the smallest bit better.

"Ready?" A voice called from the control booth.

Scott nodded sharply for the four of them.

"Start."

The room suddenly became darker, the world around them shifting into some jungle landscape.

The only close beacon of light was the spastic glow from Gambit's deck of cards; the only sound was the one of him shuffling.

* * *

Charles Xavier sat at his desk, leaning back in his wheelchair, caught in a rare moment of inactivity and reflection. His fingers were steepled in front of him; his suit was creased softly with obvious use, and, had he any hair it would have been rustling in the easy breeze floating in through his open window.

His eyes were set on a picture that had been perched on his desk for a few months, and, out of all of his albums and all of his files, it was his favorite picture.

His students had all gathered outside on that day, every one of them an accomplishment in his eyes. Everyone who had agreed that he had touched them, helped them, had congregated outside of his doors. His newest inductees of Colossus, Gambit, and Pyro blended in coolly to those he had had from the beginning, such as Scott and Jean. He himself was seated in the front of the collected group, pride spelled out on every feature of his face.

A pride that survived to that day.

The only thing that broke him out of his revere was the sound of his communicator buzzing.

"Logan?" He answered promptly, concerned something might have gone wrong with that morning's training session.

"Chuck," Logan grunted back, voice crackled and distorted by the communicator's speakers. "You remember how you told me you wanted me to page you if anyone every got past level ten in the Danger Room?"

"…Yes…" Charles answered hesitantly.

"Well… someone did."

* * *

Xavier wheeled himself out of the elevator as fast as he could manage, bordering between being impressed and concerned as he made his way towards the observation deck.

"Professor!" Someone called from behind him. He turned just in time to see Scott scamper out of the Danger Room, orange paint splattered across the back of his head. "Have you seen?" He panted.

"I was on my way now." Xavier answered.

"He might-" Pant. "Be-." Pant. "possessed."

Xavier quirked an eyebrow but decided to see for himself before passing judgment.

"Omigosh!" Kitty gasped as she ran out into the hall. "Logan just sent me to find you, professor." She breathed lightly before beckoning him forward frantically. "Hurry up! I think he might be, like, possessed or something!"

"Possessed?" Charles wrinkled his nose. That had been the second time he had heard that word in just as many seconds. He started to lean more towards being concerned as he hurriedly pushed himself forward into the booth, tailed by both Scott and Kitty.

The first thing he noticed in the room was how everyone gathered was staring, practically dumbfounded out the window. The second thing he noticed was the clenching and unclenching of Rogue's fist. The third and final thing he noticed was the scene of destruction playing just outside the window's perimeter.

He wheeled forward silently to get a better view.

Gambit crouched with the tension of a jungle cat about to pounce, knees level with his shoulders and with on hand he clutched the branch on which he was perched, with the other he cut a single deck of cards.

He had been still for barely a half a second when the marker locked in on him again and he sprang forward, orange paint splattering the tree where he had just been. As he tumbled to the ground his fingers lashed out, releasing a single card from his possession.

The card hit home and the marker combusted violently.

Gambit hit the ground hard on his back, rolling quickly out of the way as a second marker targeted him, a second card flicking out of his fingers. A second spectacularly graphic explosion.

A metal hand closed in around the back of his collar and hauled him upright just in time to avoid another splat of orange paint.

Gambit gave one gruff grunt of thanks to Colossus before whipping around and viciously hurling another card at a marker that hadn't even locked them yet.

"Perhaps we should be slowing down?" Piotr shouted to be heard as Gambit took off into the thick of the trees again, determined not to stay in one place long enough to be locked on again.

No response was taken as a negative.

Gambit hurtled forward heedlessly, barely taking note of the welts the lower branched were leaving across his skin as he tore past them. Colossus followed shortly behind him, the only way he was able to keep up was by shoving and uprooting trees, cutting a path through.

Gambit threw himself forward as he sensed he was being targeted again just in time to avoid the projectile of orange paint that spattered the ground where he had just been. He caught a low lying tree branch with the agility only a professional thief could posses before hauling his torso up level with the branch and letting himself fall back down, creating enough momentum and swing that he was able to flip the branch, landing solidly on top.*

"I can not do that!" Piotr barked with vexation from below as he rolled across a jumbled knot of roots to avoid being tagged.

Gambit was too distracted to hear him as his sharp eyes dissected the sky like a cougar hunting for prey.

And when he finally caught sight of his 'prey' he reacted in the same way.

He pounced.

He leapt from his spot in the tree and caught the underside of the marker. Quickly scrambling up the side while avoiding the orange paintballs being shot off barely inches from his handholds, Gambit charged the entire thing.

"Stop the simulation!" Xavier shouted as he noticed Gambit snag his glove on the edge of a panel on the tracker, which was pulsating a spastic pink.

"What?" Logan looked over his shoulder, reality startling him.

"Stop the simulation!" Xavier repeated as the younger man yanked twice at his glove before finally managing to rip it off.

The extra momentum he had built up worked against him, his balance slipped, he teetered on the edge of the marker for a dangerous moment.

"Now!" He barked. But, even if Logan had shut down the simulation at that exact second, it wouldn't have been fast enough.

The marker started to whine, the excess energy building up. If Gambit had had a way down a few seconds ago, he was out of time to get far enough away before the marker would detonate in the same gratuitously violent fashion the others had. And finally, after a moment that was frozen in time, Gambit fell.

He didn't scream, or flail, or tense up as anyone who didn't have a plan would have, he merely trusted.

He trusted Piotr to be on top of things. He trusted Piotr to have already found a solution.

And, as a torn up tree collided with the marker, taking the brunt of the explosion and barely knocking it out of the way, everyone in the control booth was left to wonder if he had known that his trust would be worth it.

Gambit caught the edge of a branch as he fell, and even though it must have nearly dislocated both of his shoulders, he held on. And then, after he had gained enough inertia, he let go and dropped straight to the ground just in time for the simulation to finally be terminated.

Xavier watched with a concerned expression as Gambit straightened from his crouch, the sweat slicking his uniform to his skin obvious in the harsh lighting, and as he turned around and Xavier got the first good glimpse he could of his face, his first thought was '_He's possessed…' _

His face had not changed expression throughout the entire simulation. Not as he dipped or dived, not even getting a speck of orange paint on him. And that expression was one of pure malice. Anger, hatred, lust for justice.

He may not have been literally possessed by a demon, but he was possessed by some detestation that not even Xavier knew.

"Reckless." Logan spat.

"I want to see him in my office as soon as he is cleaned up." Xavier instructed, eyes never leaving the boy on the ground below. Even when said boy had to be ushered out of the room by a concerned Russian as soon as he started coughing, nearly doubled over in pain.

_

* * *

_

Hmm…my first Danger Room session… did I do okay?

_*Think uneven bars in gymnastics…. I don't do gymnastics, so I don't really know how to explain it, but I tried. _


	7. Chapter 6

_I've decided that not only will I update twice in the same month (:o!) I'm gonna go ahead and give you guys a plot monster this chapter (:O!) Like, a really big plot monster. Plot Godzilla. _

_And now, I ramble. _

* * *

Remy Lebeau was not a stationary man. Xavier himself had hypothesized that it was the pent up energy that he constantly expelled through his mutation manifesting in a more subtle way that caused his constant fidgeting, but Remy had always seen it as a nervous tic. He didn't like being still. Being still implied relaxation, and relaxation implied the inability to react effectively to unseen or unheard threats. Though he slouched chairs his knee would bounce in time with his tapping foot, his fingers might drum out an incoherent rhythm. When he leant, which had been interoperated as his equivalent of standing, he would fiddle with any idle object within reach- pens, papers, hair, mechanics. And, of course, the cards he constantly wore out between his fingers- cutting, snaking, bridging- there was never a moment where he was truly inactive. His languid muscle was always active, moving in his particular liquid fashion.

Except for now.

It had taken Xavier a few moments to even realize that he had not only entered the room but taken a seat directly in front of his desk.

He sat stiffly, teeth clenched, fingers balled. A tenseness surrounded him that would have been shattered with any sort of movement or sound.

Xavier tested the tenseness by clearing his throat softly.

Remy's eyes switching focus from the window to Xavier was the only indication that he was paying attention.

"Good morning, Remy." Charles started delicately.

Remy nodded in response.

Though Gambit had never really been… _warm _to Xavier, once apologetically slipping in to conversation that 'Psychics make m' teeth itch*', he had never been so _cold. _

Remy, for his part, was expending so much energy holding up his mental blocks he barely had any concentration left to apply to the man in front of him. If anyone in the house could undo him, it was the man who could read his mind and tried to save every lost soul that crossed his path.

"How are you feeling?" Xavier decided that the best place to start would be in a fairly neutral question.

"Fine." Remy said firmly.

"You did quite a number on the Danger Room this morning."

"I didn't realize that was an issue. 'M sorry. Won't happen again." He assured. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He made to stand.

"That's not why you're here." Xavier knitted his fingers together. "And you know that."

Remy settled back into the chair stiffly.

"Would you like to talk about what's troubling you?" Charles continued, everything about him practically understanding personified.

"No."

Xavier bit back a frustrated sound in his throat, stifling it with a smile. "I understand."

Remy swallowed a 'No you don't', oppressing the words by grinding his teeth together. "I know."

A mildly terse silence settled in the room.

"Can I go now?" Remy shattered the silence remorselessly, simply eager to escape the room.

"I have one more question." Xavier cleared his throat, realizing that, while his understanding face worked on the young and vulnerable, Remy was neither. His face slipped into a more stern expression. "I appreciate that you may not want to speak to me about any issues you are facing currently, though I wish you would allow me to assist you," He didn't notice Remy tense. "My first priority is the safety of my X-men. Remy, you _are _one of the X-men; I would expect you to have similar priorities. However, today in the Danger Room, you did not exhibit any regard for Piotr's safety, nor your own. I need your assurance that whatever it that is possessing you, it will not get in your way of being there for your team or taking in to consideration your own personal safety. Can you give me that?"

Remy stared. Xavier was asking him to give his word that he was going to take care of himself.

A bark of bitter laughter was barely swallowed.

"You have my word." He lied.

Xavier scrutinized him for a moment and Remy felt the pressure of a mental prod around the barriers of his mind. Though the walls must have made him even more suspicious of Remy's sincerity, he gave one curt nod of dismissal.

Remy practically tripped over himself as he bolted.

* * *

The wind tousled her hair, occasionally casting a white or brown curl in front of her grayish green eyes. The chill of the air had forced a blush to settle on her cheeks and a deep red to cover her lips. She scanned the ground below her dangling feet.

Remy had known he would find Rogue on the roof. In much the same way she wrapped herself in his blankets when she was upset with the rest of the world, she isolated herself on the roof when she was upset with him.

He didn't say a word as he plopped down next to her on the edge. She would talk when she needed to and he had learned to be patient.

They sat there in silence for at least an hour. They both had enough to brood over to keep them occupied.

Rogue reached over and took his hand in both of hers. She ran her thumb over his knuckles.

They sat there in silence for another hour.

She settled her head on his shoulder and he was allowed to wrap his arm around her shoulder. She continued run her fingers over his.

A half an hour passed, though Remy hummed through this one.

"You lied to me…" Rogue mumbled eventually.

He just kissed the top of her head.

"You said you were alright." She continued. "You aren't. I'm not dumb."

"I know you're not, _chere._" He sighed.

"But you're not going to tell me what's the matter." She stated.

"I can't." Remy whispered. "I wish I could, but I can't."

"Can't or won't?" She looked up in to his eyes.

"Both."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Rogue sat bolt upright, yanking herself out of his arms. "You don't want me to get hurt?" She repeated. "You don't want me to get _hurt?" _She cried indignantly. "Hun, you better start thinking of a better excuse _real _fast."

"Don't worry, _chere." _He said soothingly. "I'm taking care of the problem. I'll tell you about it when everything's all over. When it won't hurt you." He assured her.

"That's not good enough!" She shook he head violently, hair flying wildly in every direction.

"That's all I can do right now." He said softly. "I know you don't like it, but every now and again we havta suffer thing we don't want t'. I promise you, soon enough, you'll forget this even happened."

She glared at him suspiciously. "Do you swear?" She demanded.

"On my life."

It would have been funny if it hadn't been sad.

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but slowly the weight lifted off of her chest. That was better than nothing, and though she'd prefer to know everything _now, _she would take what she could get.

Remy saw her eyes soften and took it as a good sign.

"C'mon." He tugged on her elbow.

"What?" She grumbled, rising to her feet along with him.

"I told y'." He grinned at her, covering a cough with a laugh. "We're goin' out."

"Out where?" She called, caught up as he started running away with her arm.

"I've got this whole list of things I've always wanted to do before I died, but I ain't never had the time t' do 'em." Remy explained, grinning. "I'd like t' do 'em with you, if you'd do me the honor."

Rogue pretended to think about it for a moment.

"Very well, Mr. Lebeau. If you insist." She smirked.

"Oh," He smiled impishly. "I do."

* * *

"Spit?"

"Spit!"

Rogue peered over the side of the ledge again.

"What if it hits someone?"

"We laugh."

She snorted.

"Come on!" Remy grinned. "Count of three."

She laughed and nodded.

"One." He drawled.

"Two." She chuckled.

"Three!"

They both leant out and spit.

"Ewww…" They chorused and imagined they could hear two little _splat_s below.

"Do they sell 'I spit off the Empire State Building t-shirts?" Rogue wondered out loud.

* * *

"You're never too old to jump on mattresses." Remy assured her as the peered in through the window on a Mattress Discounter.

"I concur." Rogue smiled deviously.

* * *

"Who knew they'd get so mad at people for swimming in a fountain?" Remy mused out loud.

Rogue shrugged as she rung out her hair.

* * *

"Duck."

"Blob."

"Diamond."

"Suspended ice crystals."

"Y'r awful at cloud watching."

* * *

"Don't. Move."

"I didn't!"

"I can tell you're breathing!"

"Your lips are moving!"

Remy and Rogue glared at each other playfully from their contorted positions.

"Hey!" Someone called from behind them, causing them to start. "What are you two doing in the window display?"

* * *

"Oh," Rogue laughed from her spot on a bench in front of a small coffee shop. "This has been the most fun I've had in weeks. I feel like a child." She licked the curl off of the top of the ice cream cone in her hand.

"It's a good feelin', ain't it?" Remy smiled, pleased with himself. Vanilla ice cream in one hand, unlit cigarette in the other.

"Aren't you gonna smoke that?" Rogue asked when she finally noticed the cigarette wasn't lit.

"I'm tryin' to cut back."

She smiled. She had always frowned upon his smoking habit.

He tried to contain the bitter twang that sounded like 'If only I had listened'. For the most part his day had been amazing, he wasn't going to let as trivial a thing as dreaming of the way things could have been get in the way.

There was no room for 'coulda, shoulda, woulda' s in the present.

This was how things were.

He couldn't change them.

"You alright?" Rogue asked as he sighed, tucking the cigarette behind his ear.

"Yeah..."

She leveled a look at him.

He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close to his chest.

She rolled her eyes and adjusted the ball cap he had gotten her so that she could still see him.

"I changed my mind 'bout that hat." He informed her.

"Really?"

"Covers up your hair. I don't like it." He nodded.

"Hmm. Well I changed my mind about your sunglasses. They cover up your eyes. I don't like it." She shot back.

"I'm not taking off the sunglasses."

"I'm not taking off the hat."

"It seems we're at an impasse." Remy grinned.

"Indeed." Rogue smirked back.

"Excuse me." Someone cleared their throat pointedly, drawing both Remy and Rogue's attention away from one another. It was a generally rounded woman with rosy cheeks and a tawny frizz of hair on her head.

"Can I help you?' Remy inquired, not exactly 'coldly', but he wasn't being a ray of sunshine either.

"I don't mean to be frank, but, have you two heard about the mutant problem?" She asked seriously.

Rogue and Remy shared a significant look.

"Yes." Rogue supplied. "Terrible animals. Wrecking the natural order of things."

"Beasts." Remy added for good measure.

The woman's face brightened. "My name is Anne, and I represent an up and coming association that is looking for new recruits."

"Really?" Rogue and Remy pretended to be both surprised and interested.

"Oh, yes." Anne smiled, achieving a toad-like expression. "Here," She handed each of them a bright yellow flyer that she had been clutching to her chest. "Our next meeting is in about a week and a half. We're going on a 'March Against Mutants'. Everyone is invited, though I'd bring some sort of weapon along if I were you. Our walk goes right past that dreadful Xavier place, and it can't be guaranteed that everything will remain peaceful." She smiled like the cat who caught the canary.

"Xavier?" Rogue tilted her head to the side. "What's an Xavier?"

"Oh, Charles Xavier runs a training facility for mutants not too far from here. In Bayville. There's about twenty of them holed up in there, learning how to use their unnatural monstrosities against us normal folk"

"Those sneaky bastards." Remy spat vehemently.

Anne nodded. "If you ask me, the entire house should be leveled, with those freaks inside of it."

Rogue and Remy nodded seriously.

"You can call that number on the flyer if you have any questions, and make sure to wear your walking shoes if you do decide to come next week." She gave them a bright smile before moving on to the next gaggle of people, spreading her message like a virus.

Rogue and Remy stared down at the papers in their hands. Disgust and fear churned Rogue's stomach as she read the words there. Something different churned in Remy's. A mixture of his chest hollowing out and him feeling hopeless and a swell of duty and resolution. He felt sick and relieved. His spine chilled and a sweat broke across his forehead.

In bold letters stretched across the canary yellow page were dangerous words.

'_Friends of Humanity'. _

* * *

(* _Ten points if you know where it's from!)_

_FOH? Fuuuuuuuuuuu-! _


	8. Chapter 7

_Sometimes I sit in front of my computer and say to myself 'Jamie, what the hell are you doing with this story?' or 'That's dumb. Why did you write that?_' _or, more recently 'Jesus, did _I _write that? Whaaaa?' I have said all three of those to myself as I wrote this chapter. _

* * *

The hum of thrumming metal echoed down the wide, empty halls, carrying a cold tune of hatred and unsung despair with it. It could be heard in every room of the establishment, albeit faintly. It was the constant background noise, the constant reminder of why everyone gathered under the roof was there.

It was because they were mutants.

A fact that Pietro Maximoff would never allow himself to forget.

He ground his teeth together and squared off his shoulder, the yellow paper in his hand crumpling as he clenched his fist.

"He's not going to like this." Betsy Braddock, one of the newest recruits to 'The Cause', commented as she read over her own yellow paper.

"No." Pietro agreed tartly. "He's not."

"Who's going to tell him?" She looked around at the few faces gathered in what functioned as the dining hall.

"I'll do it." Pietro gritted out before stalking off down the hall slowly and resolutely, an attitude he usually assumed when he was going to meet his father.

He cleared his throat loudly as he knocked on what appeared to be a solid stainless steel wall, the sound of metal flexing and groaning growing louder from behind it.

Without a word a panel of the door broke away from the rest smoothly and swung open, allowing Pietro entrance into the room hidden behind before sliding closed and sealing shut once again.

"You have news?" Erik Lensherr, Magneto, asked without looking up from the paperwork on his desk.

Pietro stepped forward slowly and smoothed the crinkled yellow paper across the steel desk.

Erik's eyes barely fractioned from his work, sparing the paper a half-second's amount of consideration before flicking back to the work in front of him.

"What about it?" He asked in his usual curt manner.

"It's an anti-mutant rally." Pietro clarified, perplexed as to why Magneto didn't seem to be as vexed as he pictured him to be.

"So I gathered." Erik remarked. "It isn't unusual."

"You aren't going to do anything about it?" Pietro started to pace, barely restraining himself from becoming frantic.

"I won't concern myself with the small affairs of these _homo sapiens._" Magneto very nearly sneered out the last two words. "I have a much larger picture in mind."

"But," Pietro breathed in sharply, filling his lung in preparation. "These people, the 'Friends of Humanity' are soliciting on the street! They're inviting everyone they hand out these flyers to on this 'March Against Mutants' they have planned in about a week and a half. They're telling people to bring weapons!"

"I fail to see the connection." Erik commented as soon as he mentally divided Pietro's words into separate sentences. "Rallies and weapons?"

"They're walking right past Xavier's." Pietro breathed, and it was explanation enough.

The grinding sound of metal thrumming and flexing and breathing and moving abruptly stopped. Things that Pietro had always taken for granted, such as the constant ticking of the clock at Erik's back creaked to a halt, giving the impression that time had ceased to function in the face of his father's fury.

Erik's face stayed composed. A tic in his jaw was the only physical indication the news had bothered him in the slightest. His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fingers around the pen in his hand.

An inferno rose to life in the depths of his cold, grey stare.

It was the loudest silence Pietro had ever heard.

Without words Erik stood. He swept past his son and out of the room.

All that was left in the room was the silence. The cold, echoing, deafening silence.

The silence before the storm.

Pietro fidgeted for a moment before he decided that witnessing his father's wrath would be more bearable than suffering the silence any longer and rushed out of the room after the old man.

In this room, now vacated of the living, sat Magneto's helmet. Perched on his desk, the symbol of power currently had no job other than to cast shadows and collect dust.

* * *

Rogue clung to Remy's waist with every bit of strength she possessed as he took a curve doing at least fifty-five. The motorcycle's back wheel fish-tailed grotesquely before Remy threw his weight in the other direction to correct the bike's path, barely missing a beat.

She gasped sharply as her knee nearly scraped against the pavement. She could feel the tension and anger pent up between Remy's shoulders as she pressed herself closer to him. She squeezed her eyes shut so that she wouldn't have to see the smear of colors the world was becoming around them.

She didn't want to admit it, but, for the first time she was afraid of him. She hadn't been afraid when she had confronted him the first time in battle. She hadn't been afraid when he had yanked her into an alley. She hadn't been afraid when she had woken up lashed in a train with him.

She hadn't known him then. She hadn't been aware of the passion with which he threw himself into the world with. She hadn't had the faintest clue of the intensity of the fire that blazed within him.

Now that she did she knew that there would be no rest for Remy LeBeau until these Friends of Humanity were stamped from his fears. Until he could make his home safe.

She was afraid of what he would do to make sure that happened.

He practically dashed the bike to the ground as they skidded to a long stop in the driveway of the Xavier Institute and pulled Rogue off of the bike. He sprinted in through the doors; eyes set with steely determination. Rogue spent a second attempting to reorient herself to her sudden upright position before realizing he had disappeared, and then following after him.

"Gambit?" Scott's brow crinkled as he walked into the foyer at just the right moment to see Remy burst through the door. The man made no stop to talk to him as he tore away, leaving Scott alone in the foyer again. "Rogue?" He asked as she ran in behind him.

"Which way did he go?" She panted, looking around.

Scott pointed.

"Thanks." She breathed, taking off in that direction.

"What's going on?" Scott called, following after them at a, not as quick, but still brisk pace.

"_Professeur!" _Remy shouted, throwing open the door to Xavier's office without bothering to stop and knock.

"Remy?" Charles started at the suddenness of his intrusion, pen he had been writing with flying out of his hand as he jumped. "Remy, what's wrong?"

"_Ceci est la réponse! Ce sont les gens! Ils étaient dans la rue, du babillage sottises sur les mutants! __Ici! Regardez_!" Remy slapped the down paper on Xavier's desk, who was sitting, baffled as he attempted to pull apart the rapid-fire Cajun-French.

"Remy, please," Xavier stated in a composed, controlled voice, providing the anchor of calm in the rapids of his chaos he needed. "Calm down and explain to me what's wrong. In English, if you please."

Remy opened his mouth to detail the atrocities that had been revealed and the dangers that were laying just on the horizon for everyone in the mansion, even the mansion itself, only to be cut off by Rogue bursting through the door.

"Did you explain?" She asked.

"_Non, pas encore." _He said before turning back to Xavier, opening his mouth again.

"What on earth is going on?" Scott trailed in after Rogue.

"I don't know." Xavier planted his hands firmly on his desk, brow furrowed with what might have been distress if it had appeared on a face more prone to the emotion. "But, I would appreciate to be informed at your _earliest convenience_."

Remy shoved the paper forward.

Xavier's eyes ran over the paper once.

Twice.

Three times.

"I…" His brow creased as he read it over a fourth time. "This is displeasing to say the least, but why the panic?" He passed the paper over to Scott to read as he looked to Rogue and Remy for any answers.

Rogue opened her mouth to tell the story of the horrid Anne and the terrible plots forming just outside of their control only to be cut off by the chime of the doorbell.

Xavier sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his forehead, perhaps in an attempt to smooth out the lines that creased his worn face. _Would someone please answer the door? _He sent telepathically out into the house.

"I got it!" The voice of Bobby Drake echoed from out in the hall.

_Thank you._ Xavier nodded amiably as he would have if Bobby had been sitting right in front of him, soft smile on his lips. The smile faded as he turned back to Rogue and Remy "You were saying?"

* * *

Bobby Drake tossed a snowball from hand to hand as he ambled to the front door, whistling as he went. The doorbell chimed a second time, an air of impatience surrounding the sound.

"I'm coming." He rolled his eyes. "Geeze."

A sharp knocking echoed from the door, repetitive and incessant.

"Hold your horses." He snorted, unlocking the front door and swinging it open. He opened his mouth to spit out a snarky welcome, but when his eyes registered who was standing in front of him his mouth went dry and his eyes went doe.

"I'm here to speak with Charles." Erik stated solidly, his head held high, his eyes burning coldly with calculating intensity. He was wearing a suit and tie under an average coat. Pietro, standing off to his side as the one who had been in charge of the doorbell, shifting wearily from foot to foot, eyes darting around, was dressed in his casual clothes as well.

"Uh…" Was the most intelligent sentence that Bobby could formulate at the moment.

Pietro snorted, the edge of near-anxiety tainting the sound as he fidgeted. "You've got the master of magnetism and his son standing at your front door and that was the best you could come up with?"

"Uh…" Bobby blurted again.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself," Erik's low voice cut off Bobby's stammering with ease. "But I shall make an exception; I'm here to speak with Charles."

Bobby opened his mouth again, undoubtedly to spew another incoherent, nonsensical syllable.

"As a friend." Erik added, a bit softer this time.

Bobby blinked. "One second." The door closed.

Pietro crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently while Erik didn't budge an inch.

The door opened again.

Bobby wasn't the one standing there.

"Magnus?" Charles breathed in sharply. "What are you doing-."

"We need to speak." Erik informed him.

"I-." Xavier hesitated.

"Please." Pietro implored, knowing that, however desperate the situation, his father would never stoop to say the word. He had never really cared for Xavier, the X-men, or the X-dream, but he wouldn't know what to do with imself if any of the three disappeared. In a brief moment where Pietro tried to picture the world without dreamers like Xavier, all he could see was darkness.

Erik put his hand on his son's shoulder, adding a small squeeze of reassuring pressure, understanding the boy's dilemma better than anyone else could.

And that was when Charles realized that Magneto the extremist, the master of magnetism, the terrorist, wasn't the man standing in front of him. Erik Lensherr, the friend, the father, the barer of wise words and bad news was the man on his stoop.

"Yes," He conceded, moving to make way. "Come in."

_

* * *

_

Short, I know. Long wait for this, I know. But hey, take solace in the fact that I'm MacGyver.


	9. Chapter 8

_MacGyver has used the objects found in her reviews to construct this chapter!_

_Also…er… I was trying to go for a stichomythic scene changes here, but I think I just produced… well, 'shite' would be too strong of a word, but 'incomprehensible nonsense' seems to suit it just fine. _

* * *

Scott watched Pietro warily, standing stoically in front of Xavier's office door in much the same fashion a gargoyle would, refusing to budge wile an enemy was in his territory.

Pietro fidgeted and looked around, his shoulders rolling reflexively as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

Scott watched him critically, deciding quickly that, if it ever did come down to war, Humans vs. Mutants, Pietro wouldn't be a soldier.

Magneto would be a General.

Xavier would be a Negotiator.

Scott would be a Colonel.

But, Pietro? He wasn't made for war. He'd flee. Take shelter with whoever had the most to offer.

Scott's covered eyes flicked away from the uncomfortable boy to Rogue and Gambit.

Gambit had surrendered the only chair in the hallway to Rogue, in stead sitting on the floor, his shoulders against her knees, his head falling back into her lap. She brushed his hair with her fingers and he hummed to her, but they were both staring blankly into the future, something haunted in their eyes.

_What about them? _Scott couldn't help but wonder. If there was war, what about them?

Separately, Rogue and Gambit were untouchable. Unstoppable. Undefeatable. But, together, there was an opportunity for the enemy. There was weakness.

* * *

Xavier repositioned himself uncomfortably in his wheelchair and he wished, not for the first time in his life, or even that hour, that he could walk. Pace. Cross his legs. Tap his foot. Anything to relieve the mounting pressure and discomfort pent up under his composed mask as he and Erik Lensherr discussed a danger on the horizon for the Institute.

He settled for straightening the few papers, pens, and a stapler that sat on his desk.

"You must act." Magneto implored. "Kill the snake before it can strike."

"That is not the way the X-men function." Xavier argued. "We are not offensive when it comes to the affairs of humans."

"This is different." Erik's jaw tensed and he laced his fingers in his lap, and in the same way Charles would put his hand to his temple or steeple his fingers or rearrange the items on his desk, this was his tell. A sign that he was battling with his temper and losing where Xavier battled with his patience.

"No," The fingers were steepled. "It's not."

Erik's scowl became more pronounced. "Charles…" He sighed, begging the man to reason.

* * *

Scott had noticed it in the Danger Room long before. When they were together they fought as one unit. Gambit took a step forward, Rogue took a step back. She lunged, he parried. He swung, she ducked. Bob and weave. Block and strike. It was almost the perfect system until the time was taken to realize that, as one unit, they became an amputee when separated. When they were torn apart, there was panic. Neither could stand to know that the other was in the fray alone. The goal shifted from whatever the particular mission was to 'Find and Protect'.

Once, in a particularly graphic session the two had fought, back to back, practically the personification of grace. Until, that is, Gambit was hit.

Rogue went rogue.

No artificial soul was left alive.

Scott had set out immediately to ensure that they were separated during practice, hoping to train them out of that way of thinking, but something always nagged at him.

Would he do any different for Jean?

A sharp cough cut off his train of thought and his attention returned back to Gambit and Rogue.

"Are you alright?" Concern coated every word as Rogue asked them.

The coughing grew more intense as Gambit scrambled away from her, his elbow held over his mouth, his other hand waving her away as she tried to rise.

"What's wrong with him?" Pietro asked skittishly, wincing at each rough cough.

* * *

"We will act if and when The Institute is under threat," Xavier said in a very Charles Xavier tone. Finite. Confident. Firm. The undertone of hope and warmth ringing through every word. "Not before."

"Your home _is _under threat." Magneto said in a very Erik Lensherr tone. Finite. Short. Poignant. The rawness of the knowledge he had of humanity tainted every syllable. It was the truth of the matter. There was no room for dreaming for Magneto. No room for hopes. There were facts and there were actions. Newton's Law, as it were.

It was almost a wonder that he and Xavier got along at all.

"These people are functioning under the guise of a peaceful community," Erik continued. "But you and I both know the way these affairs function!" His voice was slowly beginning to rise with his frustration.

"I agree that the peaceful presentation of this 'March Against Mutants' is a façade," Xavier looked back down at the yellow flyer, the curled font, the bold words, the perky color. "Employing the innocent to provide mass to the attack."

"What's the saying?" Erik smiled darkly. "Idle hands are the devil's playthings?"

* * *

The coughing quickly escalated from the point where his entire body convulsed with each hack.

"Rems?" Rogue tried to approach him again but he cut his hand frantically, almost violently, through the air, keeping her at bay.

Scott, not having any of that 'Ima lone wolf! Ima take care 'a mah own problems! I'll suffer by m' self!' nonsense that Gambit seemed to radiate in concentrated doses, hauled the man up, ducking under his arm as Gambit's knees gave and supporting him with a grunt of effort.

"No." Scott it off when he noticed Rogue trying to step forward and help. "Stay here. Watch him." He jerked his head in Pietro's direction as he gave the short orders. "I'll be back."

Scott quickly hauled Gambit into the kitchen, following through on his first instinct to get his teammate water in an attempt to quell the coughing fit, which, if anything, had gotten worse as he was half-dragged through the hall.

"Stay here." Scott instructed as he dumped the convulsing form of Gambit into chair.

Gambit might have nodded, but it could have easily been a jerk caused by the coughing.

Scott fetched the glass and filled it with water, losing count of the number of times Gambit coughed while he worked.

The glass of water was handed over and, with trembling fingers, was lifted the Gambit's lips.

"_Merci." _Gambit rasped after he swallowed, coughs seemingly appeased for the moment.

"Don't mention-." Scott started to smile, but stopped himself when he noticed the red stain on the inside sleeve of Remy's elbow. Though everything had a ruby red hue through the covered eyes of Scott Summers, there was no mistaking the spill of blood on an otherwise white shirt.

Remy swallowed thickly, the action choking slightly in his throat as he followed the direction Scott's sunglasses were pointed.

He looked up at Scott with wide eyes. "Don't tell Rogue."

* * *

"This changes nothing." Xavier's face was hard.

"This changes everything." Magneto countered.

"I will not put my X-men at risk by willfully seeking a fight with these 'Friends of Humanity'." Xavier said firmly.

"You risk them by not doing exactly that." Erik rose from his seat and gathered his hat, signifying that the conversation was over. "I won't let my fellow mutants be threatened, Charles." Erik informed him as he opened the door to the office. "And, if you won't act," He cast the man behind the desk a somewhat pitying look. Pity for how Xavier couldn't see the necessity of what he would do to ensure that the future, his future, the future of his children, the future of _mutants. _"I will."

The door closed sharply behind Magneto, the master of magnetism, leaving Professor Charles Xavier alone in his office, which suddenly seemed too big, too silent, too cold. A tendril of something he hadn't felt for a long time coiled around inside of him.

Fear.

Magneto would act, attack, and burn these 'Friends of Humanity' to the dust.

The Fear coiled tighter in his abdomen.

_I must intervene. _Xavier thought. He couldn't, wouldn't, allow Magneto to squander the tentative relation he had built between humans and mutants. One brutal attack was all the excuse that would be needed to raise the rallying cry for war.

_War. _The thought was cold.

Humans against Mutants.

War.

If Magneto made a move against these Friends of Humanity, Xavier was going to have to be there to take the blow.

* * *

Before Scott had a chance to say something, anything, else, the sound of the front door being shut resolutely echoed through the halls hollowly.

His head turned to better pick up the sound, or any noise that might be in relation to it, and Remy took the opportunity to slip away from under the vigilant leader's thumb. Remy would avoid Scott for as long as it took, longer maybe.

He slunk away from the kitchen, pulling on his trench coat to cover the red spill on his sleeve, arriving in the front hall just in time to see Xavier wheel out and stare at the door.

"Are y' alright, _profeseur?" _Remy asked when he realized just how old the man in front of him looked. Old and tired.

"I'm fine, Remy." Charles said heavily. "We're just going to have to keep our eyes open a little wider from now on."

Remy nodded his stoic agreement.

"Now," Xavier smiled, putting on his face. "Isn't it about dinnertime?"

Remy stared at him for a moment before realization hit him. "_Enfer! _I'm s'posed t' make dinner!"

* * *

Ray Crisp gnawed on a toothpick and flicked through channels on the television in the media room , sitting leisurely on the couch. To his left in the only available armchair was Jubilee, who was chewing on at least a pack of gum distractedly. Scattered on the floor around them were Rahne, Roberto, Bobby, Amara, Tabitha, Kurt and Sam, all of whom were loudly giving their opinions about the shows Ray was skipping over.

"I wanted to watch The Simpsons!" Kurt complained loudly.

"Nobody cares." Jubilee snapped. "Put it on Project Runway."

"Spongebob?" Bobby said hopefully before getting pummeled with pillows. "I was just suggesting!"

"Wait, -shh!" Rahne interrupted. "Does anyone else hear that?" She asked.

Ray muted the television and everyone listened.

"You guuuuuuys!" A small voice shouted from somewhere in the background, too far away to be seen, but obviously gaining quickly. "You guuuuu_uuuuu_yyyys!"

"Jamie?" Bobby said out loud.

"YOU GUUUUUUYS!" Jamie shouted as he barreled into the room.

"What's wrong, Jamie?" Rahne jumped up.

"Kitty just told me that Gambit's making dinner tonight!" Jamie panted, beaming.

The teens glanced at each other.

"First one to the kitchen gets the extra okra!" Bobby declared and they all raced for the kitchen doors, pushing, shoving, laughing, brawling. They burst through the kitchen door in a tangled mess of excited children.

The dull roar of laughter and complaining died out completely as they all slowly realized that the kitchen was empty.

"What's goin' on in here?" They whipped around to see Remy walk into the room, four large boxes balanced on his shoulder.

"Aren't you making dinner?" Jubilee asked after a few seconds of confusion. "Why haven't you started yet?"

"Brought y'all pizza instead," Remy shot them a grin that didn't reach his eyes as he plopped the boxes unceremoniously onto the counter, wiping the grease that had leaked through the box onto his hands off on his jeans.

"But," Jamie looked from the boxes to Remy and back again several times. "You hate fast food." He mumbled, confused and distressed. "You said that good food took soul." He looked up at the older man.

Remy smiled down at him, a sad tint to the curve.

"It does."

He tousled the boy's hair and took his leave.

That's when they knew something was wrong.

* * *

___...Urg, I'm tired. That was draining. But, _I really like the word '_stichomythic'. It's a nice word._ _You know which other words I like and are nice? The ones that you put in a review. :D _


	10. Chapter 9

_I don't know why I brought God into this. It creates judgment and bias, but, pretty much, without this song, this story wouldn't have gotten writ, son. _

_So, you can blame this entire story on Johnny Cash. Yup. _

_I apologize in advance if this makes zero sense. _

* * *

Rogue yawned to herself as she wandered the halls, making her wandering way towards the kitchen in a not exactly direct route. She was content to feel the wood of the floors under her bare feet, the relaxing repetitive motion of walking with only a general goal to take her where she was going.

She ran her fingers through her hair and vaguely wondered if she looked as tired as she felt.

"It's impossible to look as tired as I feel." She mumbled to herself as she used her hip to knock open the kitchen door, expecting to see pots boiling, pans frying. She expected the smell of a good, warm, working kitchen. The sound of chicken frying and laughter and singing and brawling and teasing. A feel of family. Of home.

Instead she found herself confronted with a dozen children staring blankly at paper plates, soggy with oil from now cold pieces of pizza.

She looked around in confusion.

"Wasn't Remy supposed to take care of dinner tonight?" She demanded, catching the attention of the New Recruits for the first time since her entrance.

Jamie's attention faded from her back to the plate of pizza. "He did."

Rogue frowned. A deep, angry frown.

Whatever was going on with him, he had no right to bring the children into it. To deprive them of that sense of 'home'.

"Which way did he go?" She demanded, planting her fists on her cocked hips, snorting furiously.

"I don't know where." Jamie admitted, shrugging slightly, obviously deflated.

"Nevah mind." Rogue snorted, Mississippi twang brushing her tongue as she got herself riled up. "Ah know 'xactly where he is."

* * *

"What the hell do you think you're playin' at?" Rogue demanded as she threw open the door to the gym, not even bothering to close the door behind her as she stormed in.

He didn't acknowledge her as he pushed and pulled the floor towards and away from himself with one arm, the other locked behind his back. He stared stonily down at the mat below him as his muscles worked. Caught up in the movement. The strain. Push up. Push down.

"Just because yah ain't willin' tah let anyone help yah with yah damn problems," She hollered, and it didn't even matter that he hadn't even looked up at her. "Don't mean those kids gotta be losin' out on-…" She began to taper off, a sound distracting her. "Losin' out… on…" Her voice died in her throat.

He was humming.

Her brow wrinkled.

Sometimes he would hum for her, or for one of the little ones when he was the only one around to comfort then to go back to sleep after a nightmare, sometimes even the gumbo in the pot or the cards in his deck, but she had never heard him hum for himself.

"Remy?" something hurt deep in her chest as she recognized the tune. Hurt deeper than her urge to shout at him. Hurt deeper than her anger.

He still didn't look up.

"Rems?" She knelt and put her hand on his shoulder, her face painted every color of concern.

"Ah!" Remy gasped and jumped, flopping down to the ground the rest of the way. "_Chere." _He panted once he finally registered who had interrupted his trance-like state. The movement. The strain. Push up. Push down. Tempered. Rhythmic. Controlled.

She pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and looked him dead in the eyes.

"What's wrong?" The words bubbled out of her lips before she could stop them, her eyes pleading with him.

His eyes pleaded with her right back.

He leaned his forehead into hers and closed his eyes, almost looking pained. The hurt in her chest intensified.

"Dance with me." He finally said.

"What?" She breathed.

"Dance with me." He repeated, taking her hands in his as he rose to full height.

A feather light ghost of a smile brushed her lips. "Alright." She whispered.

He wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close to him. The hurt in her chest eased slightly as she became enraptured in his smell and his touch and the deep rumble she could feel resonating from his chest as he took back up humming the song, swaying her with him in time with his own music.

But, the hurt got worse when he stopped humming the tune and started crooning the lyric, his baritone voice low in her ear, barely a purr as he sang to her- for her. _"You can run on for a long time," _He swayed with her. "_Run on for a long time, run on for a long time. Burt, sooner or later, God'll cut ya down."_

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"_Sooner or later God'll cut ya down."_

* * *

Xavier braced the pads of his fingers against one another. He let his mind branch out through the town and he listened.

_-"Go tell that long tongued liar, go and tell that midnight rider—"_

The thoughts, the minds he was sorting through, looking for indicators. Some of them were sweet, soft, young, naive. Worthy of redemption. Salvation.

-_-"Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter. Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down—" _

But, there were still some. Dark. Hateful. Spiteful. Unwilling to understand. To leaqrn what he could teach.

Xavier couldn't save them all.

-"_Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down—"_

* * *

"_Well, my goodness gracious let me tell ya the news. My head's been wet with the midnight dew. I've been down on bended knee, talkin' to the man from Galilee." _Remy held Rogue out from his body and spun her around before pulling her back into his chest. _"He spoke to me in a voice so sweet. I thought I heard the shuffle of angel's feet." _

Scott leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, concerned scowl tainting his features.

He went unnoticed by the other two in the room.

"_He called my name and my heart stood still, when he said 'Son, go and do my will'." _They continued to sway.

* * *

Magneto ran his fingers through his hair and looked over the information Psylocke had stolen for him.

The details about the happenings of this 'March Against Mutants'.

_-"Go tell that long tongued liar, go and tell that midnight rider—"_

Minimum expectancy of attendance numbered in the hundreds.

-_"Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter. Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down—"_

Hundreds. Hundreds of people he was going to have to fight. _Hundreds _of people he was going to have to make an impression on. Hundreds of people he was going to have to scare, intimidate, and -if it came to it; Man vs. Mutant; his species, his friend, his family vs. the same vermin that branded that number deep into his flesh- Kill.

_-"Tell 'em that God's gonna cut 'em down—" _

* * *

Grayson Creed, the founder and leader of the Friends of Humanity, sat at his desk, looking over his schedule for the next week, feeling quite content with himself.

_-"You can run on for a long time. Run on for a long time, run on for a long time—"_

Monday: Meet and greet Senator. Tuesday: News spot. Wednesday: Charity ball. Thursday: Speech at community center.

-"_Sooner or later, God'll cut ya down—"_

Friday: Eliminate Xavier Institute as political threat.

- "_Sooner or later God'll cut ya dow—"_

* * *

"_Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand. Workin' in the dark against your fellow man." _Remy's voice dropped deeper, barely a breath against Rogue's ear anymore. "_But as sure as God made black and white, what's down in the dark will be brought to light." _

However, even though he voice was soft, it carried across the room. Scott still leant in the doorway, observing in his calculating way. Trying to figure out what was wrong. Physically- with Gambit. Emotionally- with his grappling with whether or not to tell Rogue what he'd seen.

"_You can run on for a long time. Run on for a long time, run on for a long time. Sooner or later, God'll cut ya down. Sooner or later God'll cut ya down."_

A hand fell on Scott's shoulder and he turned sharply to see Piotr standing behind him, the same calculating look on his face, assumingly having been standing there long enough to understand. Maybe longer.

Piotr shook his head.

Scott swallowed, nodded, and they both disappeared.

"_Go tell that long tongued liar, go and tell that midnight rider. Tell the rambler, the gambler, the back biter. Tell 'em that God's gonna cut ya' down. _

_Tell 'em that God's gonna cut ya' down." _Remy's voice voice dropped back off to a hum, his chin resting against her shoulder, his eyes closed, his fingers laced together at the small of her back. Finally, his voice choked off altogether.

Caught in the bitter-sweetness of the moment, Rogue picked herself up onto her toes and crushed her lips against his.

The kiss tasted salty from the tears that bled down her face.

_

* * *

_

Argh! Why am I such a Debbie Downer? I swear to all that is good and holy- 2, 3, 4 more chapters,

tops,_ and then you'll see the damn HAPPY that I friggin promised. _

_I'm gonna go… do… stupid teenager things. ((…Cry…))_

_Also, I'm changing the description for this story. It's completely inappropriate for this to be just about him and his stupid cancer anymore. _

_(P.S. Song is called 'God's Gonna Cut You Down' by Johnny Cash. It's awesome) _

_(P.P.S Miss Anon4now, Anna Marie, I knew it was you the second I saw that xoxo! (There was much rejoicing. I'm glad you commented, it made me feel loved :D)) _


	11. Chapter 10

_I…I love you guys. You're the best. Seriously. I would have totally choked on this story by now if it weren't for you. Cookies for everyone! (Because cookie rehab's for suckers.)_

_PS, This chapter's me stalling. _

**

* * *

**

On Sunday Night

Rogue spent the night with Remy again, her own room having gone practically untouched over the last few days.

Her cheek pressed into his chest, over his heart, her white hair spilling over his bare skin, contrasting with the tan of his flesh. Her fingers unconsciously traced patterns across his stomach. His own fingers drew circles and loops across her lower back, up the line of her spine.

They both talked for a while, but mostly sat in silence. A silence that was thick with so much opportunity they could hardly hear the other breathe.

They sat there, breathing and holding each other until the sun broke.

**On Monday Morning **Scott and Logan picked up more Danger Room sessions. Warren, Hank, and Bobby included.

Usually Danger Room sessions concentrated on defensive strategies, evacuation procedures, or a 'capture the flag' simulation of some variation or another, but that all changed suddenly. Offensive strategies were tested on them, perseverance in the face of constant assault emphasized, and, while the concept of taking a bullet for any of the 'civilians' they were protecting wasn't _encouraged _per say, it wasn't _discouraged _either.

Unsurprisingly enough, those who excelled at this newer, more aggressive and offensive campaign, were those who had worked under Magneto.

"Watch Gambit," Cyclops instructed of the other X-men after two and a half hours of trying to break them of the habits that had already been ingrained into them in that very room. "Watch how he works the simulation on the offense, while still being flexible enough to switch to defense within a fraction of a second."

Remy shook out his arms a few times and crouched down in a runner's stance, rolling his shoulders back and glaringly observing the stainless steel dome around him. Determined that if he was going to run a simulation, he was going to run it well, and if he was going to be an example, he was going to be a good one.

"Ready?" Scott called from his spot up in the observation booth.

Remy nodded once harshly.

"The game is 'Protect the Pedestrian'." Scott informed him. "If your charges come to injury, you fail the simulation."

Remy nodded again, gritting his teeth around a cough.

Scott hesitated for a second, a look of apprehension straining his features. Was Gambit physically well enough to do this?

He hesitated for a second longer.

He was going to have to play a game within a game. A 'Protect the Gambit' inside of a 'Protect the Pedestrian'.

It wasn't a game that he was going to be able to play when push came to shove, but, for now, he felt it was necessary.

"Ready when you are, Scooter." Remy shouted up to the tower, growing impatient.

Scott glanced over his shoulder, eyes caught on Rogue for a moment.

Could he risk it? Could he count on her to play the game without losing her head?

_Would I do anything different for Jean?_

_Would Jean do any different for me?_

A new thought struck him.

_Would I _want _her to risk herself for me?_

Scott finally set his jaw, firm with his decision.

"Piotr," He caught the attention of the Russian. "Get down there and help him."

**On Tuesday Night **Graydon Creed made the ten o' clock news.

"_Mr. Creed-."_

"_Please, call me Graydon." _

"_Yes, Graydon, how did your views on mutant-human relations develop?"_

"_I've always had an interest in mutant-human relations. The world is changing. 'Evolving' if you'd like to listen to some. And I, for one, won't stand here and wait around for these 'advanced' beings to take away my right to live. Humans have been here longer than mutants, and they'll stay here longer than mutants." _

"_Is that how you got the idea for the 'Friends of Humanity'?" _

"_I think my father gave me the idea, really."_

"_Was he a big inspiration?"_

"_More than you know…"_

Xavier switched off the television, unable to watch anymore.

**On Wednesday Morning **the fever started.

Though Remy wasn't consciously aware of it at first when he blearily opened his eyes, all he could really tell was that he was sore and tired and his throat hurt from coughing so often.

He had tossed and turned most of the night, body fluxing from being too hot, to too cold. The two extremes driving him away from anything close to comfort. But now that the sun was up he felt… stuck. He couldn't bring himself to rouse the energy to drag himself out of bed.

He felt…

Sick.

Faintly, he heard a knocking at the door. Or maybe it was an incredibly loud knock; he honestly wouldn't have known the difference at that point.

"Gambit?" Someone called. "C'mon, mate, you're late for the fun."

Remy couldn't gather the energy necessary to give any sort of response.

"Gambit?" The voice called again, a hint of worry encroaching on the tone at the silence that responded. "You in there?"

Remy managed to cough this time, reeling from the inferno of pain it brought to life throughout his body.

There were a few more seconds of hesitation before the door swung open tentatively.

"Remy?" Pyro called as he stuck his head in the room.

Remy groaned to prove that he was alive.

"Ah!" John squeaked when he finally caught sight of Remy, leaving the sick man to assume that he looked like the icy hand of death.

"You look like the icy hand of death, mate!"

Suspicion confirmed.

"Are you –uh- feelin' alright?" John stepped in, obviously unsure if actually wanted to do so.

Remy coughed again, curling into a ball, burying his face in his quilt.

"I'll take that as a no." John shifted on his feet uneasily. He was no good with this sort of thing. The last time he had given something a treatment that could be described as 'friendly', or even slightly on the better side of 'not badly', that wasn't an inanimate object was when he was seven. But, he felt that if he were ever going to start keeping 'friends' or having a 'buddy', Gambit would be the man. There was just enough 'cheeky bastard' to him that John could appreciate. And Gambit had never given him weird looks, or inched away towards the door when John had whipped out his lighter. In fact, if anything, he was really the first person who saw John for the criminally insane arsonist he was, shook his hand and grinned before greeting him with a 'Welcome to the freak show.'

Really the first 'friend' he'd ever had. First person he ever trusted enough to not keep his lighter in his hand at all times. First person who had ever taken the time to explain to him the rules of 'Go Fish'. First person to ever actually listen to John's ideas for stories, encouraged him even.

Maybe Remy was just a people person, used to dealing with strangers, used to saying the right thing at the right time and knowing when to speak at all, and when to just listen.

But John wasn't.

And that someone would spend time, even the slightest amount, to tell him that he wasn't just a raving idiot with an affinity for fire -that there was something he might be good at outside of destroying things-, was a big deal.

"Alright, mate." John rolled up his sleeves and took a step forward. "You better be decent." He grunted as he rooted through the tangle of sheets and blankets, finally locating Remy's shoulder.

Remy groaned wanly as John hauled him onto his feet.

"There we go." John grinned at Remy, who was standing in a pair of thick pajama pants that ran long enough to fold under his heels and absolutely nothing else. "You hold tight right there, I'll getchya a shirt, and we'll hop on down to the med bay, eh?" He nodded encouragingly as he turned to Gambit's dresser.

There was a muffled '_whump' _as Remy collapsed to the floor.

* * *

"One hundred and six point four." Hank frowned at the thermometer.

"Is he gonna be alright?" John fretted, shifting uncomfortably beside the cot in the medical wind of the Institute that his fellow ex-Acolyte was unconscious in.

"Technically," Hank sighed. "He should be dead."

John looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment before throwing his head on Remy's chest, ear down, determined to find a heartbeat.

"Should be, being the operative words." Hank pried the Australian off of his charge. "The human body can only regularly maintain a maximum temperature of about one hundred four degrees Fahrenheit." He pushed John into a chair. "However, with mutants, it's hard to predict what their bodies can withstand. I assume that the nature of Gambit's mutation has something to do with his ability to withstand such an extreme temperature." Hank scratched his head. "I'll have to do more research before I can accurately diagnose him, though my first thought would be some sort of infection."

John blinked a few times.

"So, he'll be alright then?" He said hopefully.

Hank smiled lightly. "I'll do what I can."

A small groan echoed from the cot.

Hank and John whipped around just in time to see Remy open his eyes.

"Wha's goin' on?" Remy asked, voice gravellier than usual.

"You fainted." John informed him.

"Did not!" Remy cried indignantly.

"Did too, I was there." John grinned, happy that he was acting closer to normal now.

"How are you feeling?" Hank interrupted what he was sure was going to be a well crafted and beautifully delivered come back.

"_Bon." _Remy lied. "Just a little tired."

"No soreness in your joints or lack of circulation in your extremities?" Hank inquired.

"Nope." Remy didn't hesitate. "M'fine, Henry." He assured. "Jus' overworked and underpaid." He cracked a joke, holding back a cough for all he was worth. He couldn't blame John for bringing him here, but he rather wished he hadn't.

"Quite." Hank hummed, glancing down at the thermometer in his hand, the little '106.4' still displayed on the screen.

"Well," Remy rolled out of the cot, standing steadily through a sheer force of will. "I've gotta be off, Henry. Got some stuff t' take care of in the city t'day." He dismissed himself before anything else could be said or done, swiping any pain killer he could get his hands on and a sleep aide as he went.

In truth, he didn't go to the city.

He sat in steam shower in the locker room, attempting to sweat it out without anyone catching on.

**On Thursday Afternoon **Rogue made dinner.

Remy helped.

They laughed a flirted and just enjoyed the hell out of each other as they prepared dinner.

And it was a good dinner. The kind of dinner that everyone had been looking for from Remy a week ago.

A _family _dinner.

After words Kurt took care of dishes, Kitty put away extra food, and Jubilee and Bobby picked out a movie.

Everyone settled down in the media room, Remy pulling Rogue into his lap to 'make room for everyone else'.

And they all watched the movie together, which, surprisingly, wasn't that bad.

And everything was quiet, and everyone was safe, and they all knew if wouldn't last.

**On Friday Afternoon**, around five, just as a thick dusk was sinking in and all the creaks and groans of the Institute had settled, a piercing alarm blared, notifying the X-men that it was Time.

_

* * *

_

*hyperventilates* Next - *gasp* Chapter- *gasp* We… they… I… (*cries*)


	12. Chapter 11

_You there! Go get a cold glass of water.  
__Quick like a bunny! Glass! Water! Maybe some ice cream while you're up!  
__I'm starting until you do!  
__La de da.  
__Got one? Good. You'll thank me later. (Haha. Juuuust kidding. You'll probably be too busy cursing my soul to the heavens later to thank me. *cuddles Bob-the-stuffed-tiger and sniffles*)  
__This chapter's __uber__ long because 'Quick like a band-aid' only means 'Don't split this bitch up into two chapters or we'll find your home and straight up murder the hell out of you' to me... D: _*_goes to cry in a corner*_

_Baaaaaaaare wiiiitttthhhhh meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. _

_

* * *

_

**DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! HEART-TEARING-OUT VIOLENCE AHEAD. (It's wicked legit.) **

* * *

Magneto stood tall, his chin held high, his eyes set in stone.

To his right stood Quicksilver, who seemed to be lacking in the same steely determination that his father exhibited.

Behind him stood The Acolytes. The second best of the best after the first best of the best had defected to the other side. Psylocke tying her purple hair back, Blink surveying the terrain around their target, throat, Quill picking at his teeth with one of his own spikes, Arclight cracking her knuckles, and, of course, Sabretooth indulging in the scent of human while growling gutturally in his throat. They all stared down at the community center that had been rented out completely for the Friends of Humanity's use for the day, lights filtering through the wide windows as they milled as the huge turnout signed in and prepared for their March.

The six on the hilltop stood in silence before Magneto gave the order.

"Make an example of them."

* * *

Xavier rubbed at his temples , trying to block out all of the thoughts of those crowded onto the X-jet alongside of him.

-_Oh, goddess. They're so young. My students, my children. Too young for - _

_-Too few of us. How many of them will there- _

_-Fighting Magneto and fighting the people we're tryin' to protect? Chuck's sure askin- _

_-I should watch his back. He will not accept my help willingly; perhaps I must force it on him. Brave accident my- _

_-Gosh, it feels like a funeral in here- _

_-Spark trigger seems to be stickin' a bit. Should get that checked out. Wouldn't want to be wearin' a faulty flame thrower- _

_-God, he's burning up. Fever. What's wrong with him? Why won't he tell-_

_-When push comes to shove. Did I train them well enough? Will they remember-_

_-Finally get to go on a mission! I finally get to go-_

_-Flying on a jet. Usually fly on my own. Don't need to hide my wings-_

_-'To sleep, perchance to dream'-_

_-'Best way t' die's with a grin on your face'-_

_-'Deliver us from evil'- _

He contemplated for a moment to ask them to simply stop thinking, or brooding, or worrying. But he knew that asking them to do so would have been both unfair and impossible. Their minds were buzzing with fear and anticipation, each broadcasting all at once as they went on in their inner turmoil, reaching him in a jumbled mess of lexis and images and emotions that couldn't be explained coherently through words.

Surrendering his attempts at tracking Magneto's men any further than he already had using telepathy, he started to listen with his ears.

And that's when it struck him how _quiet _it was. Tense and cold.

For a moment he entertained to thought of breaking the silence.

Tell them how _proud _he was of them.

But, he knew that they needed the silence more than they needed his praise.

"We touch down in three." Ororo was the one to finally shatter the density of the silence from her spot as pilot.

"Alright everybody." Cyclops stood with his chin set. Because Scott Summers does not do things half-way. It is all the way or no way with Cyclops. Total domination or utter failure.

And 'Failure' wasn't a word that he acknowledged in his vocabulary.

"Kitty, Kurt, Jean, and Warren will be working on evacuation, keeping in mind that the civilians are hostile and reluctant, possibly armed. I don't care what state they're in when they're out, just make sure they're alive. Wait for my signal." The four nodded, rolling their shoulders apprehensively. "Logan, you're in charge of Sabretooth. Lure him away from Magneto and distract him for as long as possible." The Canadian smiled darkly at the prospect. "That leaves me, Storm, Piotr, Pyro, Rogue, Gambit, Hank, and Bobby on the offense." He continued to instruct. "If they make it to that building there will be hell to pay. Understood?" he barked.

Short, sharp nods met his dictation.

"Good." He nodded curtly, posture rigid.

"Touch down in one." Storm updated.

"_Chere?" _Remy turned hesitantly to Rogue as the jet touched down.

"What?" Rogue brushed his hair out of his eyes as the ramp was lowered.  
"All right," Scott barked. "Move it, move it, move it!"

"In case I don't get to tell you later," He put his forehead to hers as everyone dashed for the exit and she could feel the waves of unnatural heat roll off of him. "I love you." He pressed his lips to hers in a single moment of heat before disappearing, leaving behind a stunned Rogue, whose heart was breaking for a reason she wouldn't be able to identify for another hour.

"Rogue!" Scott snapped. "Let's get going!"

"Right!" She shot up and out of the jet, telling herself to worry about it later.

Xavier sat alone in the jet, and again, the cabin was filled with a tense, brooding silence.

* * *

"X-men are here." Pietro reported to his father.

"I see." Magneto rolled his shoulders, displeased but unsurprised. "How long-" His question was cut off by a roar of fury behind him as Sabretooth picked up Wolverine's scent.

"Runt." He growled under his breath, falling into an animal crouch.

"What's going on?" Blink asked, pink skin flushing with what could have been either panic or excitement. "Who's there?"

Magneto smirked as a glowing playing card floated softly to the ground in the center of the semi circle they'd made. "Always had a flare for the dramatic, didn't he?"

The card combusted spectacularly and Wolverine took the opportunity in the distraction to tackle Sabretooth to the ground in a snarling, growling tangle of claws and gnashing teeth, wet caverns opening and quickly sealing shut again across their flesh as Logan led the other man away from the fray.

Storm and Cyclops targeted Magneto, the clash scarring the landscape with the burns of lightning and the craters of concussive blasts. Colossus and Arclight were braced against each other, hands locked as they grappled for dominance, Beast with his thick arms wrapped around her neck. Pyro and Iceman were back-to-back, eyes scoping their surroundings for a telltale streak of silver and white before they struck.

Rogue boxed up her stance in front of Quill, the dying sunlight dancing off of the spikes that protruded from his face and shoulders as he looked her over.

"You going to fight me, girly?" He smirked. "'Cause I'd hate to break a pretty face like that."

"Really?" Rogue snarled. "'Cause I can't wait to break yours." She launched forward, vaulting over Beast's body as he was thrown to the ground by Arclight, and catching Quill's stomach with the heel of her boot. He caught the back of her knee before she could regain balance and they both crashed to the ground, him on top of her.

"This is more like it, huh?" He grinned lecherously, pinning her wrists above her head while angling his hips into hers.

Snarling with malice, she struggled to free her hands so she could absorb him.

"What's wrong?" He chuckled, leaning forward so that the spines in his face scraped against her cheek, opening shallow cuts. "Cat got your—"

He was jerked to his feet by an irate Gambit, who promptly kneed him in the groin. Quill stumbled backwards a step, wheezing in pain as Gambit cocked his arm back and ended up getting one of those barbs jammed about an inch deep between his knuckles as he punched him in the face, breaking his nose and laying him out.

"Absorb first, ask questions later!" Remy barked, hauling Rogue to her feet with his busted hand, leaving smears of blood where ever he touched.

"Punch the kid with the spikes in the face!_ Fantastic _idea!" She snapped right back, snatching up his bloody hand. "I had it handled!" She snorted. "Don't move, this is gonna hurt." She yanked the barb out.

Remy hissed in pain.

"Watch y'r sixes." He grunted in warning, the both of them turning in unison so that they were back-to-back, shoulders braced against the others. Balance. Support. Blink went for Rogue, Psylocke for Gambit.

Bob and weave. Block and parry. One step forward, one step back.

Gambit hauled Psylocke upwards by the arm and flipped her over his shoulder. Rogue twisted and kicked out just in time to catch her in the stomach, sending her flying at Blink. Blink disappeared, leaving the other woman to collide with a tree before reappearing, this time in front of Remy, fists first.

Remy's head snapped to the side as he spat out a sick mess of blood, snot, and saliva, his lip splitting open again where it had barely healed and his nose making a _crunch_ing sound under the assault.

Blink disappeared again.

And then she was in front of Rogue. Uppercut to the jaw.

In front of Remy. Punch to the stomach.

Rogue. Shot to the solar plexus.

Remy. Elbow to the collar bone.

Rogue. Side kick to the knee cap.

Rogue screamed in pain as her leg twisted to an impossible angle, a sick _snap _sounding from her knee as she collapsed to the ground, not able to support her own body weight on her own legs anymore.

"Stick with me, _chere,_" Remy locked his elbow in hers, giving her his legs to stand with, still keeping back-to-back with her.

"Ah've 'bout had it with this." Rogue growled over her shoulder, gingerly dragging her clearly dislocated knee with her.

"Patience." Remy intoned. His hand on her thigh tapped out the seconds as they waited for the pink skinned woman to reappear. One… two… three…

Blink reappeared in front of Remy, jabbing a harsh fist in between his ribs and twisting so as to dislocate and break them before disappearing again.

One.

Rogue whipped out Remy's bo staff.

Two.

She wielded it over her shoulder in a batter's stance.

Three.

She swung, catching Blink in the side of the head as she reappeared with a resounding _crack. _

"Y' alright?" Remy caught Rogue's elbow and helped hold her up as she struggled.

"Need tah relocate my knee, but I'll be fine once I find Logan." Rogue grunted through clenched teeth as she dragged her leg with her. "It's gonna be a bitch of a bruise. You?"

"Broken rib or two. I'll liv— uh... It'll be fine." Remy winced. He ran his fingers through his hair, accidentally slicking it back with the blood from his knuckles, his other arm immobilized by the broken collar bone.

"How's everyone else doin'?" Rogue glanced over her shoulder just in time to be witness as the limp bulk of Piotr Rasputin was hurled at them, knocking all three down the hill, losing any ground they had gained. Remy's back hit the outside wall of the community center, pinned there by Piotr's mass.

"Get 'em off!" Remy coughed, trying to push the unconscious Russian. "Can't breathe!" He coughed more violently, gasping raspily in a way that couldn't fill his lungs.

"I'm trying!" Rogue yanked at Piotr's arm, trying to gain some sort of leverage, but her busted knee buckled and she collapsed, gasping in pain.

"Rogue!" Remy tried to reach over Colossus' broad chest to get to her.

"Well, isn't this cute?" Psylocke followed the trail of destruction they'd left all the way down the hill, purple hair wet with blood from the bruised and bloody gash on her forehead from her rendezvous with the tree trunk. "Guess you all missed Battle Strategy 101, huh loves?" She picked Rogue by the throat, which was covered by her uniform, preventing direct skin contact.

"Yeah?" Rogue gritted out, trying to break the woman's grip on her trachea. "What's that?"

"No lovebirds on the battlefield!" She hissed, grip tightening.

"Rogue!" Remy shouted again, struggling and coughing. Separated. No balance. No support. Had to get out. _Had to get out. _Remy gnashed his teeth and clawed at the wall like an animal in cage.

Rogue's eyes rolled back in her head.

"I _liked _my face the way it was." Psylocke snarled, blood dripping down in front of her eyes.

Remy didn't notice that it had started to rain. He didn't notice the screams of pain from his busted hand and broken ribs. Didn't notice that the flashes of red from Cyclops' eyes that had been a constant in the brawl so far had cut off abruptly. Didn't notice a howl of pain in the distance that was distinctly Wolverine's. He didn't notice the flares of fire in the background had lost shape and form. He didn't notice the ice tracks had started to melt.

All there was in his world were fingers around Rogue's throat.

"Rogue!" He screamed again, pushed at Colossus' weight with all the strength he could muster, which was not much as he was reduced to another coughing fit.

_Not the time. _He thought desperately as the deep coughs radiated from his wet chest. He gasped wetly, the coppery taste of blood at his tongue. _Not the time. _The edges of his vision started to black out. _Not the time. _

His muscles stopped responding to his command.

He would have screamed for help if his lung capacity had agreed with the idea.

"Unhand her!" Ororo Munroe commanded from the top of the hill, lightning crackling between her fingers, white eyes narrowed with pure wrath, Magneto's dented helmet sashed to her hip. The resonating boom of thunder punctuated the demand with the perfect threat.

Remy faded out; the world became a smudge of dim colors and a far away sound that he couldn't comprehend.

* * *

The back of Logan's head connected sharply with a tree trunk, cracking his skull, knocking his teeth together hard enough that they chipped. Before he even had time to lash out again his skull meshed back together and his teeth solidified.

He wasn't one to guess _why _Victor Creed despised him with the fiery passion he did, even if he'd had the time, the memory and the means to understand, he still wouldn't have.

"You've had it, bub!" Logan snarled, slashing and hacking through the body of Sabretooth, who laughed and relished the pain, the way his flesh and muscle and bone simply knitted back into a whole.

"You think you can kill me, runt?" Victor rumbled, jamming his clawed fist forward, into Logan's stomach and up behind his rib cage. "You and me, we're cut from the same cloth."

"I'm nothing like you!" Logan barked, grimacing in pain as Sabretooth dug his claws deeper into his flesh.

"Why do you think that is?" Victor wondered, voice oddly conversational considering his hand was under a river of blood and stomach acid. "What do you think the difference is between you and me?"

"It's a long damn list." Logan snarled.

"_What is it!" _Victor screamed. "_What makes you the good guy? What makes you the best there is at what we do? What. Makes. You. Tick?"_

Logan's eyes rolled back into his head as Victor's claws continued to carve an agonizingly slow path through his organs.

"Is _this _it?" Victor jerked his hand underneath Logan's ribs.

Logan howled in pain as he felt Victor literally seize his heart.

With a sick sense of satisfaction, Victor twisted.

The scream that pierced the air only served to fuel the wrathful fire that burned in Victor's chest.

Logan dropped to the ground, the smell of blood swirled around Victor's nose.

"Not enough." He growled.

Wolverine would heal. He'd be right as rain in a few minutes.

Not matter how many times Victor cut him down, ripped out his heart, bashed out his brains, gutted him, or tore open his jugular, he couldn't _hurt _him.

He couldn't make him burn like he did.

"What's the difference between you and me?" Victor growled again, crouching down next to the spent man.

The 'X' on his chest caught Victor's eye in the moonlight.

A cold, sick smile twisted across Victor's lips.

"Of course…"

* * *

He was dimly aware as the weight was lifted off of his chest. Weight on his lips. Air in his lungs. Pounding on his sternum.

"One, two, three, four," Sobs fractured the voice with tremors as it counted in time with the compression.

A cool presence on his forehead that had nothing to do with the pounding of the rain.

"Oh goddess, he's burning up. He should have never left the mansion!" He recognized the voice vaguely. Something to do with weather.

Rain.

Wet.

He was wet. It was raining. Cold rain. He should have been cold, but he wasn't. He was warm. Hot. Fever. Sick. He was sick.

…And dead?...

No.

No. He didn't die because he was sick.

He _refused _to die because he was sick. Blatantly, explicitly, absolutely _refused. _

"Nineteen, twenty, twenty one, twenty-."

So, he forced himself to breathe, _forced _himself to pull air into his lungs.

The air grated against his throat.

He coughed himself back into life, as ironic as that was. Rolling over in the wet grass to cough up blood into the dirt to the music of "Thank god!" and the sight of dark green eyes.

"Can you make it to the jet?" Ororo helped him sit up, angling his head so that he _had _to look her in the eye. "Hank should be back up by now and he can—"

"No." Remy grunted.

"Fine then, Piotr and I can carry you once he recovers—" She started to say again.

"No." Remy repeated, using the wall he had been pinned against to help him stand shakily. He noticed Colossus groaning weakly on the ground, and a limp shadowed form he assumed to be Psylocke.

"Remy," Rogue looked up at him from her spot on the ground, her leg sngled away from her body awkwardly. "Please. Let them help you" She pleaded. "Please." Her voice cracked.

"No." He shook her off, lest he be swayed by her eyes. It was for the best. It wasn't the time. Not yet.

"Remy, you can't do this to yourself, you're sick." Ororo argued, her white hair plastered to her head with the rain she had started.

Remy's eyes wandered down to her waist. He reached out gingerly and prodded Magneto's helmet.

"He's-?" _Dead. He's dead?_ _Master of Magnetism. General in the war to come. Dead before me? _

"Unconscious." Ororo polished some dirt off the helmet. "This fight is over." She sighed.

"You wish this fight was over!" Sabretooth roared, bounding over the hill covered in so much blood it was impossible for it all to be his own.

If one could have cracked open the knotted, bloody thoughts raging through Sabretooth's head at the moment, the first thing that would have been noted would have been the seeping stain of hatred that bleed through every hungry thought in his head. Wolverine. Kill the Wolverine. Kill the Wolverine's family. Burn his home. Cause him pain. Drench everything he knows and cares for in blood.

And what did the Wolverine care for?

He'd start with the skunk head and work his way through the rest of them, taking the time to gnaw through their bones to reach the marrow.

He'd bathe in their blood.

Magneto's cause? _To hell _with Magneto's cause. To hell with wars and politics and mutant-human relations.

This was about vengeance. Pure. Animalistic. Feral.

This was about his teeth around someone's throat.

This was about the spluttering halt of a pulse.

This was about the roar of victory, whetted by blood that had been important to _him._

Remy felt as if it was all moving in slow motion. It was the light from the window glancing off of Rogue's cheek bones. It was the fire in the animal's eyes as it charged at her.

And it was all…

Perfect.

The alignment of the moment as he turned, shouldering Rogue out of the way, was simple and glorious perfection.

Sabretooth collided with his chest.

The both crashed through the window-

-Into the sign up congregation for the Friends of Humanity's 'March Against Mutants'.

It was funny how the first thing that Remy thought was '_Thank God's it was me.' _If it had been Kurt or Hank or Warren or even the pink teleporter or the kid with the spikes sticking out of his face, they would have been shot the very second they had come crashing through the window.

As it was, the crowded place had been stunned so much so by his rather impromptu entrance, he even had time to stand up and look around.

"'Possibly armed' _my ass_, Scott!" He gasped because everyone, _everyone, _was armed. He was pretty sure somebody in the back had a _harpoon. _

"_Mutie!" _A woman close to him gasped when she caught sight of his eyes. "Muties!"

The song of panic spread quickly. Weapons were drawn and held at the ready, waiting for the tension to break.

Sabretooth found his bearings, popping his shoulder back into place as he snarled around, sniffing the air.

"You!" Someone shouted. Gaydon Creed. "You can't be here!" He was in a fit.

Victor swung his head around to meet the man. "Well," He chuckled. "If it ain't my worthless kid."

The song of panic escalated into the symphony of fear.

"You- You don't- You-." Graydon stuttered, not even in his nightmares did something like this happen to him. "You aren't my father!"

"Fair enough." Victor shrugged. "I wouldn't want a _human _as a kid, anyway."

"_Merde." _Because that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

The sound of screaming and gunfire exploded in the room.

Sabretooth's brains splattered the walls and Remy dove for cover out of pure instinct.

* * *

"Lemme go!" Rogue shrieked, clawing at the air as Storm pried her father and farther away from the window. "I havta get in there!"

"We must regroup!" Ororo implored. "You are in no condition—"

"What's going on?" Scott, Bobby, John, and Hank sprinted up to them, done binding Magneto in the X-Jet.

"R- Remy!" Rogue gasped.

"What about him?" Scott was instantly sharp. John tensed behind him.

"He's inside," Ororo quickly explained. "Along with Sabretooth."

Scott whipped out his communicator faster than should have been physically possible. "Peregrine!" He shouted the signal word into the microphone. "Evacuate the civilians, but Gambit is priority number one! I want him _out of there, yesterday." _

"Gambit's inside?" Kitty's squeak of a voice came back in under a second.

"He won't be if you get down there and drag him out." Scott barked back.

"Let me go!" Rogue begged.

Scott's fingers started twitching.

What would he do for Jean?

"Please!" She looked up at him desperately, rain still pelting her skin.

Scott shifted uncomfortably. What would he do for _Jean? _

_God, _He thought. _I'd die for her…_

And she would hate him for it if he ever did.

"Come on." He ducked under her arm. "_We_ are going in." Pyro followed after them, uninvited and uncaring of that fact.

_

* * *

_

You've done it this time, LeBeau.

Remy thought as he ducked behind an overturned table, the sound of gunfire echoing loudly in his ears. _This wasn't how it was supposed to go. _He coughed into the back of his hand and contemplated his next move.

It was odd how at that moment it struck him that he was twenty five.

Only twenty five.

How many lifetimes had he live in his short twenty five years? What the hell had he done with himself? What _the hell _had it all been for?

He had made no outstanding effect on the world.

He had never painted a masterpiece like Piotr.

Never written a poem or a story like John.

As far as he knew, there weren't even pictures of him.

When he died there would literally be no way for any one to remember him. His decks of cards would eventually turn to dust, his clothes to mothballs. His fingerprints would be washed away from any surface he had touched. The nose smudge he'd left on the window once when he'd made a funny face at Rogue out in the yard would eventually be wiped away. His empty room would be cleaned out and refilled.

And Rogue…

Rogue would find somebody else.

Someone else, someone new would step up and fill the void he left. And they'd probably do a damn better job at it then he had considering the whole 'lying to her about having cancer' business.

And, for some strange, incomprehensible reason, the thought didn't irritate him in the slightest.

It made what he was about to do okay.

Okay because they wouldn't be able to cling to him.

Okay because everything was going to be fine without him.

Okay because they would forget about him.

Because _she _would forget about him.

Remy took a deep breath, smoothing his shaking hands down on his chest, blood smearing from his hand.

He braced himself.

And he stood up.

"Remy!"

His eyes snapped open and he whipped around. The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Kitty with a bloody nose and a look that could kill dragging a struggling fat man through a wall. Then he saw Kurt, burnt tufts of fur flaking away from his skin as he grabbed a woman and a teen around the waists and 'ported with a sharp _bamf! _and a puff of sulfuric smoke. Jean grab half a dozen people by the scruff of the neck with her TK before hurling them unceremoniously through the window. Warren gently scooping up a child before taking flight. John standing in the door, face contorted with fury as he shot forward almost a half a dozen demon-esque figures to distract the rest of the armed patrons, tentacles of flame reaching forward, licking the walls, eating at the carpet, taking bullets and whatever else they wanted to throw at him.

Remy turned again, searching for the source of the scream.

"Remy!"Rogue shouted again, clinging to the wall for support as she limped forward.

"_Chere?" _Remy looked at her, dumbfounded. She wasn't supposed to be there. She made everything _not _okay. Why did she come back?

Rogue was so filled with relief she could have cried. In the middle of all the chaos and all the nonsense, he was still standing. With that stupid expression on his face that he got when he couldn't understand why she loved him.

"Rogue?" He whispered again and took a step forward, towards her.

"It's alright!" She laughed, eyes pooling with tears. "Everything's gonna be ok—"

_Bang. _

The world stopped.

Remy stared down at his chest stupidly. The rose of blood blooming over his heart stood out amongst the grey fabric of his uniform. It hurt. It hurt so much he couldn't even begin to wrap his head around it. There was so much _pain _that he couldn't comprehend it. He'd never felt anything like it.

He blinked dumbly, fingers rising to the smoking hole in his chest, a weird, half hysterical laugh bubbling up from his lips.

"Ow." He coughed and stumbled forward, falling to his knees.

"No." Rogue mumbled to herself, still a good twenty yards off from him. "No." She repeated because it was the only word in the entire world that made any sense at the moment. No, that didn't happen. No, that wasn't blood. No, that hadn't been gunshot. No, no, no, no, _no. _

"Remy?" John pulled at his hair, childlike naivety tainting his features as they contorted with panic and grief. Fear. "Mate?" He stepped forward tentatively, bile rising in his throat. Blood. So much _blood. _John ran his hands down his face, losing control. The fire figures and shapes that he had hold of slipped from his comprehension and licked at the walls as he took a fearful step backwards. His friend. His only friend. The fire expanded and contorted until it reached the ceiling and started to spread across the floor, the room starting to fill with smoke.

And John did the only thing he could think to do.

He ran. Ran away from the blood and the smoke and the building. Ran away from his only friend who he couldn't save with the crowds of people who had killed him. Because now he had no one. So what was there to stick around for?

Rogue took a shaky step forward as Remy collapsed to the ground. "No." She scrambled suddenly, sprinting, tripping, and fumbling over the space between them, breaking and rebreaking her knee. "No." The rest of the world's vocabulary caught up with her suddenly and tried to escape all at once as she knelt by his side, his head in her lap and her hands in his blood. "Oh God, oh God, oh God. Remy! I'm so sorry! I shouldn' 'a- I didn'- we- I-." She choked on smoke and her own tears.

"Shh." He put a finger to his lips, the other hand going to rest at the back of her neck, body shuddering with pain. "It's gonna be alright." He assured her, coughing and shaking.

She nodded, willing to believe anything he told her right now as she had her hands pressed over the rose on his chest and still not being able to stop the flood.

"You're right." Her teeth were chattering and her body was trembling. "You'll pull through. Hank'll check you out, and you'll be up and kickin' again befor' you know it." She shoved her wet hair out of her eyes roughly, smearing his blood across her forehead. "And then we'll go on vacation, you and me, Remy. California." She nodded feverishly, eyes wet.

"'S not what I mean', _chere._" He smiled sadly at her.

"Don't do this to me, Remy." A harsh sob escaped her chest. "_Please._"

"Don't you cry." He told her sternly.

Her lip trembled dangerously. "Please." She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "For me?"

"Ain't up to me no more," He reached up for her cheek. "And even if it was, I wouldn't be able t' help it. It's gonna be alright." He repeated.

"No it's not," Tear's spilled down her cheeks and she leant her forehead into his. "Know why?" She demanded, sitting up, fire burning in her eyes somewhere behind the gloss of tears.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Why?"

"'Cause," She nodded resolutely. "You and me, we're gonna get married and we're gonna go to Bora Bora for our honeymoon and we're gonna have babies, _babies_, Remy." She nodded and he smiled at her.

"Where'd you get an idea like that, _chere?_" He placed his hand softly on top of hers, over his heart, both of them trembling.

"I had a dream about it." She sniffed, tears rolling off the tip of her nose.

"You gotta promise me somethin', _chere._" He coughed again, the smoke filling the room not making the chore of breathing any easier for him. "You gotta _promise _me."

"Anything." She whispered into his hair.

"Promise me you won't cry." He ran the pad of his thumb over the slope of her cheeks, wiping away the trails of tears.

Her lip trembled and she closed her eyes. "Alright."

"And," he added, noticing that the fire was eating away at the ground towards them at an incredibly quick rate. "Promise me you'll get yourself outta here."

"I'm not leaving y—" She started to argue.

"_Promise me._" He gritted out from between his clenched teeth.

"Remy," She sent him a pleading look. "Don't make me."

His eyes burned. "_Promise me._"

"One more thing." He smirked, eyes dancing, blood bubbling in the corner of his mouth.

"What?" Her fingers combed through his hair again.

"Promise me you love me?" He asked genuinely.

And it was like he had punched a hole in her chest. Asking her to abandon him and then forcing her to admit she loved him.

"Yes." She cried, half laughing, half sobbing. "Yes, I love you, Remy LeBeau." She choked on the smoke and pieces of the roof started to crumble down.

"_Gambit! Rogue!" _A faraway voice called for them through the thick of the blackness and fire.

"Scott!"Rogue shouted back, voice hitching in her throat.

Cyclops came stumbling through the smoke. "Oh god!" He gagged as he saw the mess of blood and torn tissue that was Gambit's chest. "What happened?" He demanded, making his way to their side.

"'M dyin'." Remy shrugged, wincing and coughing. "Nothin' really new."

"This half of the building is going to come down any minute now." Scott explained. "We have to get out now." He stripped off his gloves. "Rogue, grab his other arm and—"

"_Non!" _Remy cut him off. "Not enough time."

"But-." Scott protested.

"You don' have enough time to save both of us." Remy coughed again, more violently this time, body seizing. "And you _can't _save me, so cut y'r losses."

"Those aren't my orders." Scott set his jaw.

"New orders, Colonel." Remy barked. "You get Rogue and you get outta here." He ordered with as much force as he could muster." You drag her out kickin' and screamin' if you have to, but you make sure she gets _out!"_

"We can't just leave you," Scott argued.

Remy fisted his hand in the front of his shirt and dragged him down.

"You _can _and you _will._"

The fire continued to eat away at the wood of the building, hunger not stated with merely materials.

"Go!" Remy barked, letting Scott loose. Scott stared at him searchingly for another moment before Remy finally mumbled, "Save her."

Cyclops set his jaw.

"Remy," Rogue clung to him as Scott wound an arm around her waist. "No!" Cyclops hauled her up, dragging her towards the exit, away from the man drowning in his own blood. "Don't do this! _Remy!_" She started lashing out at Scott, sending the heel of her hand into Scott's nose.

Scott spat blood onto the floor, but merely tightened his grip on her, shielding her eyes as he kicked open the burning doors, even as she clawed at his face. Ash and fire splintered around him as he carried her screaming, sobbing, accusing, form out of the burning building.

His chin was set and his brow was hard.

Because Scott Summers does not do things half-way. It is all the way or no way with Cyclops. Total domination or utter failure.

And the taste of blood on his tongue wasn't enough to wash away the feeling of his first utter failure.

When he said 'Save her' Scott intended to do precisely that, because he would suffer no more failure.

"Put me down!" Rogue pounded her fists into his chest. "Let me go!" She shrieked, catching his jaw with her knuckles. "Let me _go!_" She sobbed, gasping for air enough to fight him.

Scott could only spit more blood out onto the ground as he continued to struggle to get her across the lawn.

"There's still time!" Rogue lunged forward, squirming and fighting and crying and _refusing _to believe that it wasn't going to work out.

Scott pulled harder at her, determined to get her away before the roof fell in.

"Scott!" She pleaded, hand out stretched. "Scott, we can still go back! We can still—"

It was the sound of a giant's spine breaking. The groan of a herculean hero dying. The sound of the wood support beam giving in. Collapsing.

Failing.

Rogue went limp on the ground as the community center was reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble and dying embers.

"He…" Rogue mumbled, hand lifting in the air uselessly. "I…" She could only stare stupidly, her brain not willing to accept there was no longer anything she could do.

Scott stood and put his hand on her shoulders.

More tears started to bleed down Rogue's face.

A flashbulb went off.

Scott whipped around and saw that the flies had already started to swarm, masses of people were crowded on the street, fire trucks finally arriving, police no far behind. But too far behind still.

"We have to go." Scott bundled up Rogue in his arms and lifted her again.

She didn't fight him this time.

* * *

Stan Blank didn't really care for his job, being a fire department volunteer had very few perks. Standing in front of a community center that had been burned to the ground, preparing to look for 'survivors' (burned remains of what _could have been _survivors) wasn't one of them.

"Wasn't this where they were holding registration for that 'March Against Mutants' thing?" Stan asked over his shoulder.

"Who the fuck cares?" His charmingly blunt 'partner', Nat Hill, shrugged, taking a drag from a cigarette. "Let's get in there." He tossed Stan a pair of gloves.

"I lead a charmed life." Stan sighed, pulling on the gloves before wading out into the charred mess.

"Jesus," Nat snorted, covering his nose. "Reminds me of when my ma left the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven for six hours extra."

"Could you try to be the slightest bit more respectful?" Stan demanded over his shoulder as he and Nat started rooting through the mess.

"I'll tell ya what," Nat rolled his eyes. "The second one of these crispy critters starts complainin', I'll wash my mouth out with some fuckin' soap, huh?" He laughed throatily.

A groaning sound pierced the air and they both jumped about three feet in the air.

"What the hell was that?"

"Over there!" Stan started tearing away at what had been the roof. "Hello? Can anybody hear me?"

Coughing this time.

"Shit!" Nat scrambled over to his side and they both pried at a beam, hefting it upwards.

The ash flew through the air and they both stumbled backwards, coughing.

"_Shit!" _Nat repeated. "Go get the stretcher," He flew into his 'I know what the hell I'm doing' mode. "This one's still alive!"

Stan nodded feverishly and scrambled away, the sight of the man under the rubble stuck in his mind, the heavy stain of blood across his chest leaving an equal stain in Stan's memory.

_

* * *

_

So… uh… M rating? Yes? I did sort of just shoot Sabretooth in the face… Oh god, I'm such an awful person *curls into a little ball and dies*


	13. Chapter 12

_You: You wander into a dark room in confusion. "Jamie?" You call, taking a step forward into the room before promptly tripping over the curled up ball of short girl. "Crap!" You gasp. "J-Jamie? Is that you?" You ask, because you can't tell from behind. _

_The only response you get from the girl is a balled up piece of paper she tosses over her shoulder, presumably at you.  
__Confused, you pick up that paper and smooth it out, realizing that there are words scrawled out across the paper, nearly covering its entirety. On the top of the page is a scribbled apology for her only knowledge of hospitals being from watching House and being hospitalized. Sadly, she is not a doctor (Which you consider to be more of a blessing than anything…) _

_Interest piqued, you begin to read…_

* * *

Gretchen Mills rubbed the back of her neck tenderly in an attempt to stretch out the kinks. It had been a hell of a day in the ER, and she had been working since midnight yesterday. At about one in the morning yesterday she had scraped her hair into a tight bun at the crown of her head, but, by six thirty in the afternoon the bun was sloppy and half undone, loose locks falling in her face. Her light blue scrubs had started to become uncomfortable and her sneakers painful. All she wanted in this entire universe at the moment was a hot shower and fourteen solid hours of nearly comatose sleep.

It was all her own fault, she supposed. She _had _volunteered for this hell-shift, after all.

But, none of it mattered. Not her hair or her scrubs or her sneakers or the _pounding _headache that felt like a hamster trying to claw its way out of her skull through her eyes (She's a doctor. That's a technical description. Really.) because in ten minutes, she would be free of this hospital. In ten minutes, she was off. In ten minutes, she got to go _home. _

So, all in all, she was in a pretty good mood.

"Ten more minutes." She yawned, glancing down at her watch and tucking a few sloppy strands of her blond hair behind her ear. "Ten … more… minu—"

"Mills!" Dr. Professor Michael Hanson MD, leading ER doctor and generally-good-guy extraordinaire, bounded down the hall towards her. "Mills!" He shouted again.

"What's wrong?" Gretchen was on her feet, secretly hoping that he was there with good news, but knowing from the furrow in his brow that he wasn't.

"I need your help." He grabbed her elbow and started walking away with it, explaining rapidly as he motored them towards where the hospital received ambulances. "We just got a call in. Burned down community center. Adult Caucasian male. Suffering from extreme burns, broken bones, and what appears to be a gunshot wound to the chest."

"But-." Gretchen started when she realized she had just been shanghaied into taking on another emergency. "But-." She started again, trying to come up with some excuse. But, was she really about to deem going home and getting a few hours of shut eye more important to her than this man's life?

No.

"Any thing else?" Gretchen asked, rolling up her sleeves as they came to the doors.

"That was all the information I received from the EMT before she started vomiting and muttering 'It's awful'." Michael leveled a look at her.

"Lovely." Gretchen sighed, the sound of sirens closing in around her as the ambulance came to a halting stop, the professionals hustling out, dragging a gurney with them.

Gretchen stifled a gag when she saw the man. He was in truly awful form. Apart from the gun shot wound that had made a bloody mess of his shirt that soot and ash clung to, there was a physical divot in his shoulder where his collar bone was broken, there was a deep, bloody hole in his other hand, body covered with shallow cuts and broken glass, his clothes were smears of ash all across him that covered harsh burns that brought the smell of burnt flesh with them, and his nose was broken. Not a 'oh, put a bag of peas on it, you'll be fine' sort of broken, a face shattering, 'you're gonna need some surgery and a miracle' type of broken, distorting his face.

Gretchen was sure she had seen people in worse shape before.

She just couldn't remember when at the moment.

"One, two, three," Michael counted off as they hauled the man from the ambulance gurney to the hospital one.

"Page Dr. Lazarus in surgery." Michael commanded one of the interns. Gretchen was too distracted to notice who. Something was nagging at her. Something about the slant of his jaw line, the curve of his forehead that she felt she should recognize.

Telling herself that she could worry about it later, she whipped out her penlight. Clicking it on, she pried open one of the man's eyes.

"AH!" She screamed, leaping backwards, penlight flying out of her hand and clattering to the ground.

"What's wrong?" Michael demanded.

"He-." Gretchen stuttered. Mutant. Mr. Henri Black. She remembered now. _'When I die, it's gonna be on my terms.' _

Did his terms include being _shot in the chest?_

"What is it?" Michael asked again, impatient as he cut away the man's shirt for easier access to burns and gun shot wounds.

"Uh…" Gretchen swallowed. They wouldn't treat him if they knew. They wouldn't help save his life if they found out he wasn't 'human'. "Uh…" She stuttered before swooping down and picking up her penlight, resolve settling. "Severe damage to the eyes, most likely permanent." She quickly wrapped a roll of gauze around his head as they continued to make a beeline towards surgery, hiding his eyes.

"Right." Michael nodded, accepting that anything was possible given the man's state.

Gretchen quickly scrambled to lift up the man's shoulder and check out his back.

No exit wound.

That meant that the bullet was stuck in his lung. Which, in effect, meant that Dr. Lazarus was going to have to find it there.

Gretchen breathed a sigh of relief, shooting the man on the gurney a glare.

He was going to be the end of her.

She could feel it.

"I've got some bad news for you _M'sieur _Black." She hissed into the unconscious man's ear before they gave him over to the highly capable hands of Dr. Lazarus. "You're going to live."

_

* * *

_

At the bottom of the page she's scribbled down 'It's awkward and short. Kinda like me.'. You glance over at the ball of teenager still curled up on the floor, eerily still. You pause for a moment and then tell her exactly what you think…


	14. Chapter 13

_Me. Carpal tunnel. Pain. Crippled. Not allowed to type. More explanation at bottom._

* * *

She was wearing black. Black dress, black stockings, black heels, black gloves. Her dark brown hair curled around her shoulders softly. Her dark makeup contrasted with her pale skin. The necklace tied around her neck was suck a deep shade of black shadows were muted by it.

And her hair white hair fell in front of her green eyes and painted red lip, concealing the disgust that plagued her expression.

It was sick and they knew it. All of them knew it.

An empty coffin.

Disgusting.

Maybe it had something to do with closure. Maybe actually seeing it buried was supposed to help.

An empty coffin. Sick. Demented. Revolting.

But, what could they do? No mutant bodies had been recovered.

Maybe there was nothing left to recover.

He must have burned.

Rogue clenched her fists around her gloves.

He was gone.

She looked down at the hole in the ground, at the black box perched on top of it and the granite stone at its head.

It was all empty.

Everyone stood around the site, on the opposite side of her. Well, almost everyone.

And her.

A bitter smile twisted her lips. It was quite the turn out. He would have been surprised.

The smile turned into a harsh bark of a laugh.

Dead.

He was dead.

He had left her alone.

Her world would have tilted more on its axis, but it had already been completely dislodged. And it was spiraling. Spinning, spinning, spinning, out of control, out of her hands. And, worse yet, she couldn't find it in herself to care.

She didn't know who she hated more, him or herself.

He had left her. Left her to clean out his closet. Left her to go through his drawers. Left her to pack away all of his cards. Left her to wash away that stupid smudge he had left on the window once when he'd pressed his nose against it to make a face at her. Left her to suffer through all the sympathetic looks. Left her to hear them sob his name. Left her to witness the backlash. Left her to call his family and tell them what happened.

Jean Luc had promised to tell his brother, but she knew he hadn't. If Henri had known about Remy's death, he would have been standing next to Rogue right now.

Maybe she was angry at Jean Luc for leaving her alone, too. How did he expect to deal with this? Was he hoping that one day it would just come up in conversation like 'Haven't heard from Remy in while, Jean Luc, maybe we should go up and see if those Xavier folks are treating him well' 'That's gonna be tough seeing as how he's been dead for months'.

Oh god.

There were going to be months after this. Years, even. Time was still going to keep functioning. Tomorrow she was going to wake up and it was going to be three days since she had seen the building fall. In a week she was going to wake and more time will have slipped away from her.

Maybe she was angry at time for not having the damn decency to slow down for her. Maybe she was angry at Erik for setting the stage for this. Maybe she was angry at Graydon Creed for setting up the March in the first place. Maybe she was angry at Sabretooth for breaking through the window. Maybe she was angry at Logan for not being able to do his job. Maybe she was angry at Storm for holding her back. Maybe she was angry at whoever had been behind the trigger. Maybe she was angry at John for running. Maybe she was angry at Scott for dragging her out.

But, no.

She was angry with herself. And with him.

"Rogue?"

She looked up.

"Would you like to say something?" Ororo asked softly, wiping at her already red nose with a tissue. It was only then that Rogue realized people had been speaking this entire time. Speeches had been given, sobs had been sounded, praise and grief and stuttering, incomprehensible blather had been shared about the late Remy LeBeau.

Rogue's brow wrinkled. What was there to say? Words wilted in comparison to this. Descriptions faltered. Letters couldn't begin to assemble in patterns that could measure. Her lips couldn't form a sound apart from a sob that even _began _to scratch the surface of what this event meant. To her. To him. To mutants.

"It's alright." Ororo assured her gently after a few moments of Rogue's silence. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

Rogue managed to nod mutely, eyes turning back to the black casket.

Empty.

Maybe it was Remy they were burying. His empty promises. His empty words.

Because. If he had loved her, _really truly undeniably irrevocably _loved _her _he wouldn't have left.

_I hate you. _She lied to herself and his tombstone. _I hate you, I hate you, I_ hate _you! _Her throat choked off with tears she forced backwards. _I miss you. I hate you. I love you. Come home. _

With a cold, hard silence, the empty casket was lowered into the empty hole below and empty head stone, and Remy LeBeau was laid to rest.

Meanwhile, miles away, Remy LeBeau was just waking up.

_

* * *

_

Crap. Me and my damn cliffhangers. Whelp, this took a while because I seem to have contracted a nasty case of the Carpal Tunnel syndrome. I figured I should inform you that updates on this are going to be slow in coming because I'm secretly not supposed to be typing at all (I won't tell Doctor Madden if you won't.)

_GOOD NEWS: four or five more chapters of this til the FINALE!- the happy starts next chapter! Woot woot._

_But! Hey! Why don't you do a cripple a favor and check her new story __**Danger, Danger! **__that will be updated for at least the next nine weeks while we wait for my wrist to heal. (I planned ahead for the first damn time in my life.) __Be a pal and drop me an optimistic review so I don't feel so worthless? _


	15. Chapter 14

_You might be wondering 'Jamie Hook! What on earth are you doing typing with your wrist?' And to that I would say— *bolts* _

* * *

"_Doctor, temp is 119 and rising."_

"_What?"_

"_120."_

"_Damn thing must be broken. Never mind that now, bullet first, temperature later."_

"_Doctor, I have the x-rays."_

"_Fabulous, Margaret. Now, do you want to _get out of my way?_"_

"_S-sorry."_

"_You should be. Hand me the scalpel." _

"_D-Doctor? What is that? Why is his chest glowing?"_

* * *

He was in a fog. The fog smelled of ammonia and latex. The fog sounded like a short, sharp, repetitive beeping. The fog tasted dry and stale. The fog was the first hint that he wasn't dead. Because the fog was bright and white and it didn't hurt and it didn't burn, and that was simply an impossibility. If he was sure about anything in this whole goddamn world, it was that he was going to hell. And The Fog was not Hell. The fog was thick, the fog was heavy, and the only thing he could really be certain of was that there was a warm, feminine figure sitting next to him, playing solitaire on the quilt next to his hips.

"Rogue?" Remy whispered raspily, drugs befuddling his mind to the point everything was just dull and slow.

"'Fraid not." Gretchen answered softly as she slumped in the chair at his bedside, her feet propped up on his knee, and a blood stained deck of cards that he recognized as his own between her fingers as she slid a black five on top of a red six on the bed next to him.

"You look like hell." Remy informed her after a few moments of dark observation, words slurring together slightly.

And she did.

Dark purple splotches had settled themselves under her eyes like deeply rooted bruises, her hair was put into a sloppily constructed bun that had obviously just had hair ties added on top of hair ties as it fell out rather then reconstructing the bun altogether, and her blue scrubs were splattered with brown stains here and there that could have either been coffee, dried blood, or a mixture of both.

"You look worse." She shot back, rubbing at her eyes and stifling a yawn.

And he did.

"I know." He didn't have to look and he knew. He sighed, eyes going to the ceiling. He supposed it was only the obscene amount of painkillers he had very obviously been pumped full of that was keeping him from reacting to the fact he was still alive in any way other than calm. He couldn't feel much of anything. Not pain in his chest, not anger in his veins.

Everything was empty. Everything was slow and groggy. Everything was…bleak.

On the plus side, the sheets were ridiculously softer to him than they should have been, so there was that.

"Can I ask you a question?" Gretchen asked tentatively, fingering a newspaper laid out in her lap.

"I don't care." Remy said honestly.

"What's your mutation?"

Remy heaved a heavy sigh, and for the first time he felt a twinge of soreness deep in his chest. "I tap into the potential energy of non-organic object and convert it to potential energy or something like that. Henry tried to explain it to me once."

"So," Gretchen's brow wrinkled with confusion. "That's it? You convert energy?" She seemed a little disappointed.

"That's not '_it'_." Remy reached down in a snap with a heavily bandaged hand and snatched up one of the cards lying next to him in her now-abandoned game of blood-stained solitaire. "We charge the card." The card frizzled a pink static charge and Gretchen's eyes widened.

They stayed wide long after he pulled the charge out.

"You said you can't charge organic matter." Gretchen spoke in a blur.

"Used t' be able to, but –"

Gretchen's halting, mildly hysterical laugh interrupted him.

Remy eyed her skeptically as she continued to fiddle with the newspaper in her lap skittishly.

"Something you want to share with the class there, _petite?_" He inquired, his words two tones away from being harsh.

"Y'know, they thought that the thermometer was broken…" She started a little distractedly, still toying with the newspaper. "One hundred and twenty point nine." She laughed again. "It's ridiculous. No human body could maintain that sort of temperature without some sort of permanent brain damage, bare minimum."

Remy started to go uneasy with the hesitant sort of way she was presenting him with this information.

"Dr. Lazarus insisted that it was more important to dig out the bullet in your chest before you lost too much blood than getting your temperature." She was rubbing at her tired eyes again and for the first time Remy was forced to wonder why exactly she was there, at his bedside, positioned so she had a crystal clear view of the door. She looked up and her blue eyes locked with his red ones. "The bullet was glowing."

"_Merde." _

"It wrecked half the OR."

Remy scrubbed at his face, the thick gaze wrapped around his knuckles scratching against his face. Not that he cared, considering he couldn't feel it, but his nose seemed to give off a dull pang as he abused it.

"I did some research on mutants and the X-gene." Gretchen seemed to change subjects. "Read a thesis paper published by a Dr. Hank McCoy." Remy's lips quirked. "It was some pretty complicated stuff, I don't really understand most of it, but what I did get out of it was that bullet should not have 'charged' unless your mutation was active at that moment." The pace of her fingers folding and refolding the papers.

"You've lost me." Remy admitted, shifting awkwardly on the too-soft sheets.

"I'm getting there." Gretchen assured him. "Cancer is an organic material." It seemed she had switched topics again. Remy's slow world was reeling and struggling to keep up with her. "But the body has natural defenses against these sorts of things, right?" She nodded animatedly, so he nodded back even thought he didn't know if that was a fact of not. "Only your body is different, capable of so much more. Your body wasn't physically aware of the cancer until it tried to jump organs, and then it started fighting back with everything it had."

"I… I charged it?" The world wasn't moving quickly enough for this. He wasn't in any condition to comprehend.

"Your body started burning it up." Gretchen nodded as she shot up, punching on the light underneath the x-rays that had been taken of his chest.

"I charged it." He repeated stupidly. It sounded icky.

"Look!' Gretchen implored, pointing out on the x-rays. The blackish blobs that had been on a very similar print two weeks ago had decreased in mass dramatically. "Your mutation in converting it to energy, which was what drove your temperature up so high. But your body could handle it. anyone else would have died... but your mutation..."

"I charged it…" He said again, all the slower as his tongue stumbled across the syllables. "...and the bullet?"

"The bullet charged because the growths were already charged. The charge spread." She ran her fingers through her hair. "It didn't make any sense until you told me about your mutation."

"I… charged it?" He repeated for the fourth time, and it finally started to sink in.

It was… burning up. It was… It was…

"_I'm such a jackass_!" He screamed, scrambling out of the hospital bed, tearing at the IV in his arm and anything and everything that wasn't supposed to be there. His eyes seethed red fire and the world started moving double-time to make up for the precious moments it had cost him.

"Where are you doing?" Gretchen asked in dead-flat panic as he started towards the closet, grabbing up his bloodstained pants.

"_Merde, merde, merde!" _He continued a stream of rapid-fire curses under his breath as he yanked on his boots, tearing off the stupid hospital gown.

"No, don't-!" Gretchen started to warn, but it was too late.

His chest…

"I…" Tears welled in his eyes. "I…" His fingers raised to the gauze wrapping that circled his chest. Thick, heavy gauze wrappings. Scarred. He would have a scar. Dozens of them.

What had he done to himself?

"My…" He started to choke again. His... his what? His everything. His chest was torn up, his face was broken, his shoulder was shattered, his hand was busted, his ribs were decimated. He wasn't ever going to be the same again. "_I'M SUCH A JACKASS!" _He screamed again, slamming his busted fist into the wall, leaving a dent.

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

"Calm down!" Gretchen hissed. "Or, I swear, I will drug you again!"

"I havta get out of here." Remy made towards the door. His knees were refusing to cooperate coherently and his head was spinning and his ribs felt like they were being crushed with each ragged breath he sucked down, but _fuck that. _He'd screwed up. Big time.

"You don't get it!" Gretchen, being the only uninjured person in the room, reached the door far before he did, blocking his path. "If either you or I leave this room, _you will die._"

"Move." Remy warned.

"They know you're a mutant now." Gretchen refused to budge. "Everyone in this hospital thinks you're an offense to the human species! I didn't _not sleep _for three days, staring at that door for shits and giggles, you know!"

"I didn't have anything to do with that attack on the Friends of Humanity." Remy informed her, clenching his wrapped knuckles. "I'm not the bad guy here."

"In case you couldn't figure it out," Gretchen bit off. "Mutant-Human realations aren't exactly at a high note." Her eyes skipped over him to the newspaper that she had fidgeted with earlier that now lay in an abandoned heap. "_That_ certainly didn't help things."

He followed her eyes.

It was the picture that caught his attention, in much the same way that the picture caught the attention of many an Average Joe walking on his way to work that just so happened to glance at the news stand. Every so often there came an iconic picture that defined an era. The Kiss of World War II, The Saigon Execution of the Vietnam War, Afghan Girl in the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. Devastating pictures that put a face to a war.

This was one of those pictures.

Remy took a deft step forward, his thick fingers clutching at the paper.

She was beautiful. Tear tracks were carved through the blood that was smeared across her face. Her white hair fell in front of green eyes that held the reflection of the inferno in front of her off of the tears that flooded there. Her red lips were parted slightly as if she had been letting out a strangled whimper the moment the candid shot had been snapped off. And her expression was… devastated. The picture of a girl whose world had just ended without her. Crushed. Broken. Vulnerable.

Human.

Scott was behind her, an after thought in the focus of the image. His teeth were dyed red, blood running a river down his chin, her entire face set in a determination that only Cyclops could muster. His brows were set in steely resolve, his chin was locked and bruised. His visor glowed a sharp red.

And that was what sold the picture.

Her innocence and humanity and his fortitude.

A picture to describe a war.

"I'm such a jackass…"

_

* * *

_

Afghan Girl is my favorite picture ever. I have a poster of it and the original National Geographic somewhere. It's gorgeous. You should go check it out… right now.

_Also, the cure for cancer? Genius or Insanity? (Or misinterportation of fact? also an option...)_


	16. Chapter 15

_Mark Salling just sang 'Only The Good' on Glee… obviously it's a sign. _

_

* * *

_

'..._Eyewitnesses at the scene report that the initial pandemonium on site started as two mutants broke in through the window of the community center that the Friends of Humanity were holding the sign-up seminar for the scheduled March Against Mutants. Graydon Creed confronted the two mutants, the altercation leading to the exposure of Creed's family ties, namely the mutant Victor Creed, one of the mutants who had broken in through the window. Victor Creed was later apprehended after recovering from severe brain damage. Graydon Creed had since lost the majority of his supporters, benefactors, and reputation …' _

Erik's eyes trailed off the words in the article and back to the picture plastered across every front page of every newspaper in the country. Maybe even the world.

"I've made quite a mess of things, haven't I?" Erik said out loud.

"An innocent young man is dead." Charles Xavier said from across the table in the conference room of the Xavier Institute. There was no point in imprisoning Magneto, or turning him over to the authorities. His powerful escape would only serve to rally more lost mutants to his cause. A cause that had already mangled and disrupted an entire mansion's worth of lives. "I would call that a bit of a mess, yes."

Erik ran a hand over his brow, forehead creasing with a lifetime's worth of troubles.

He and Xavier sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I never realized," Erik breathed finally. "How exhausting it would be."

Xavier didn't risk asking what.

"I always assumed that when the first mutant fell, I'd feel…" Erik continued, his sharp blue eyes losing focus into a faraway place. Maybe the future. Maybe the past. "Vindicated. That it would prove what these 'civilized' _humans _were capable of, their prejudice without knowledge. But," He paused, swallowing thickly. "I merely feel… _tired._

"He's not the first, Charles. He won't be the last." Erik turned to look out the window. "One day it will be you they plant in that garden, Charles. Or me. My children. Yours." He rubbed at his eyes again. "I suppose what I'm attempting to say is: Where does it end? When, _if, _I start this war, where does it end? Until one of us is extinct? Until our children bleed for us?"

"Until you stop." Xavier answered solidly, the tremor of doubt that ran through Erik's tone nowhere to be found. "Reform." He said, and it wasn't a suggestion or a command. It was the advice of a friend. "Save the garden a few more stone flowers."

"Become an X-man?" Erik's lips quirked incredulously.

"Teach them," Charles stretched out his hands, indicating the mansion. "Teach them what you know. Teach them how to be better. Teach them things I can't." He pleaded.

Erik's eyes trailed back to the newspaper. He didn't accept Xavier's offer.

But, he didn't reject it either.

And, if Charles Xavier was anything, he was a supporter of having a little faith.

"How is she doing?" Erik changed the subject as he traced over the front-page picture.

Xavier followed his eyes. His shoulder's sagged. His laugh-lines smoothed out of existence.

* * *

Anyone who knocked on her door was turned away. Anyone who came to bring her food or comfort got the boot. She had resorted to violence far quicker than her norm, but she simply wasn't in the mood for their _shit. _

She hadn't eaten or slept in what felt like months. She was too tired to sleep. Too tired to get up. Too tired to function. Purple bruises had scored themselves under her eyes, which were equally dark. Her cheeks had hollowed out slightly. She had gotten even paler.

All she did anymore was stare out his window.

Things weren't really making sense to her anymore.

She was awake. She had been for hours, maybe even days. It didn't matter anymore. Time was just another one of those things she couldn't really count on anymore.

Her eyes seemed to be one of those things too, considering that she was pretty sure there was an orange tabby cat sitting outside on his balcony. Not that any regular old orange tabby cat was strange enough for her to question her sanity, but an orange tabby cat with a newspaper clutched between its teeth was.

A humorless bubble of hysterical laughter escaped her lips.

The cat cocked its head.

Rogue pulled back into his down surrounding her, away from the cat with the newspaper.

The cat pressed its nose against the window. '_Are you okay?'_

Rogue shook her head.

The cat dropped the newspaper and batted at the glass pane in front of it. '_Open the window.'_

Rogue shook her head.

The cat shot her an irritated look and rolled its shoulders. _'Stubborn child.' _

Rogue sniffed and burrowed deeper into the sheets, seeking some sort of reprieve from the dull ache in her chest.

The cat yowled in vexation. _'Open. The . Window._'

"Go away." Rogue's voice cracked.

The cat eyed her. _'Fine. If you won't..._' The cat coiled and pounced, knocking against the heavy balcony door, hitting the handle hard enough the door sprang open. The cat rearranged itself primly and padded into his bedroom, bringing a cold breeze with it.

"Go away!" Rogue repeated, burying herself deeper in the sheets, hot tears pooling in her eyes. "I just wanna be alone!"

In one swiftly graceful move the cat leapt up to the mattress next to her, sitting tall. Yellow eyes gazed down in a way that communicated how very little the cat believed her.

Rogue curled up, shivering. "Please. Jus'… leave me alone…"

For a half a second, Rogue thought the cat would actually leave her, and that panicked her a bit more than the prospect of the cat staying, but, true to its nature the cat merely knocked the balcony door shut before returning to Rogue's side, and, with a curt nod, the cat curled up beside her silently, not moving.

And they stayed like that for a while. Or maybe it was only a few moments. Time was failing her.

"I-…" Rogue choked, tears spilling over her cheeks as she reached out and pulled the cat to her chest. "_I miss him so much_." She choked out as she sobbed into its fur.

The cat with the yellow eyes looked a little shocked and maybe a little irritated at the outburst of emotion, ruffled by the way the young woman wound her fingers into her soft fur as she sought comfort, but the vexation quickly faded. If Mystique couldn't be a good mother to her daughter, the _very least_ she could do was be a good cat, as low as she felt it forced her to sink to.

So, she settled herself in next to her adoptive daughter and purred her a crooning melody until the broken young woman finally, _finally _fell to sleep.

Because, it was the very _least _she could do.

* * *

_You caught me! I really just wanted to write in Cat!Mystique and the idea was adorable in my head. It probably came out stupid, considering I wrote this in like an hour and a half on a Glee-high, so tell me if it's stupid._

_OHEMGEE, U GAIZ! TWO. MORE. CHAPTERS! ***excitement!* **_

_NEXT CHAPTER: Gretchen Mills has had enough of this shit, Dr. Professor Michael Hanson MD loses a shirt, and Remy LeBeau makes a very big decision. _


	17. Chapter 16

"Who was she?" Blond Doctor asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Who was who?" Remy muttered under his breath, his eyes seething as he sat, rigid and upright, on the hospital bed. The oxycodin had started to ware off and every inch of his anatomy was used, bruised, and abused, only furthering how absolutely _pissed _he was_. _Beyond livid. Couldn't he do anything _right?_ No. He couldn't live right, couldn't die right, and as far as he cared- if you flunked out of those two you weren't worth much in the grand scheme of things.

And here he was. Sitting on a hospital bed shirtless, body basically useless in any of the arts he had trained it in, stuck in a room with Blond Doctor (Who may or may not have been named Goldie or Gloria or Gaile or something) whom he was positive he was going to strangle with his one good hand (which wasn't all that good considering it connected to a broken shoulder) if she yawned moonily at the door one more goddamn time.

He'd already been considering breaking the window and making a run for it, but it was too far off the ground for him to get through generally unharmed in his current predicament. He'd also already considered taking Blond Doctor hostage, or simply leaving a trail of destruction as he busted his way out, or maybe just pretending to be dead long enough to break out of the morgue.

Really, the biggest set back on any of these plans (other than jail time) was his complete and utter lack of a shirt. Shirtless men attract attention. Shirtless men covered in bloody gauze doubly so.

But never, not even for a second, did he entertain the thought of calling the Institute for help.

It just didn't cross his mind.

He had stepped over and demolished too many lines already this week, he wasn't about to alter their lives over the phone.

"You've been staring at that newspaper for twenty minutes straight." Blond Doctor yawned, having a hell of a time keeping her head up. "Who was she?"

"She..." He scrunched up his face a little bit, and under any normal circumstances Gretchen would have giggled at such childish expression on such a masculine face, but as it was she could barely see straight and she was absolutely positive the movement must have hurt the hell out of his nose. "She was… _is… was_ the girl I was gonna marry."

Gretchen gagged on the breath of air she had just taken, reducing to a coughing fit. "_What?"_

"I mean, I hadn't given 'er a ring or anything yet, but…" He frowned again. "We were gonna have a white picket fence."

"You _are _a jackass!" Gretchen gasped, face full of horror.

"_Pardon?" _Remy snipped indignantly as he turned his seething eyes to her. "I took a bullet to the chest for that girl!"

"You did that to yourself!" Gretchen's volume control had been broken a sleepless day and a half ago.

"To protect her!" Remy saw her volume and raised her about a decibel.

"To be selfish!" Gretchen stood now, the chair tumbling to the floor behind her as she pulled at her hair, her cheeks turning red in pure outrage. "You did this to yourself!"

"I did this so that she wouldn't get hurt!" Remy shouted.

"Why am I still here?" Gretchen asked herself, pushing her hair out of her eyes as she turned away from him. "You're obviously insane, why did I stay here?"

"Good damn question." He muttered darkly to himself.

"I just want to go home!"

"So do I!"

They both froze.

"Uh…" Dr. Professor Michael Hanson MD, leading ER doctor and generally-good-guy-extraordinaire coughed awkward from the partially opened doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Hi, Michael," Blond Doctor sighed, running her fingers through her hair.

"I –uh, brought you some coffee," 'Michael' stepped forward into the room timidly, shooting a nervous glance at Remy, whose red eyes were glowing with displeasure. Michael swallowed thickly, obviously uncomfortable. But he was there. And he wasn't trying to kill Remy. And that was something.

"You're a godsend." Blond Doctor's eyes misted slightly as she accepted the mug like it was a gift from the heavens.

"Yeah, well…" Michael smiled at her goofily.

Remy rolled his eyes and gagged a little bit.

He'd already been shot; he didn't need any more torture.

"I'm so sorry, Michael!" Blond Doctor gasped as her shaking hand spilled a little coffee on his shirt. "I didn't mean—"

_…On his shirt... _

Gretchen and Remy seemed to have the same idea at the same time because Remy scrambled off the bed and Gretchen ditched the coffee, yanking at Michael's black shirt.

"Ah!" Dr. Professor Michael Hanson MD's voice cracked like a thirteen year old boy's. "What are you doing?" His arms flailed around blindly as Gretchen inspected the inside of his collar.

"What size are you?" Gretchen demanded, failing to find the indicating letter on the back of his shirt.

"Can you make a decent distraction?" Remy asked of Blond Doctor as he peered out of the crack in the door, counting the steps to the end of the hallway.

"Honey, I can make a scene worthy of Broadway." Blond Doctor snorted, dodging one of Michael's flailing limbs. "Jesus, Michael, you act like a woman's never taken your shirt off before. Calm down."

Michael might have made some response, but it was lost in the voluminous amounts of cloth pulled over his face.

"Don't be such a baby." Gretchen huffed, rolling her eyes.

"Which way to the parking garage?" Remy asked, keen mind working quickly. Twenty three steps to the end of the hall. Right turn. Staircase. Maximum of fifteen stairs per case, three stories up, 30-45 stairs. Main entrance.

"Left side of the building." Gretchen jabbed her chin in that direction, tossing him the shirt. "Got a plan?"

"Steal a car."

"Not for that," Gretchen rolled her eyes. "For _her._"

"Oh." …_Oh. _Now that he had a moment to think about it, it struck him how absolutely inappropriate it would be to just waltz on up to the mansion as if everything were fine and dandy. Things weren't. The hole in his chest was enough testament to that. How was he supposed to go home when they all thought he was dead? How was he supposed to… _how was he going to…_

God, she thought he was _dead._

How was he supposed to come back from that?

Well, he was gonna square up his bruised jaw, and he was gonna walk through those doors, and he was gonna…

He was gonna…

…make shit up from there…

"You have no idea, do you?" Gretchen sighed as he screwed up his face again.

"If y' have any suggestions, I'm riveted t' hear 'em." He barked and winced as he yanked the shirt awkwardly over his head, angling his arms as best he could through the designated holes without tearing his stitches.

"You're on your own." Gretchen shrugged.

"Fan_tas_tic." Remy growled to himself, watching out the window again. "Ready?"

"Wait!" Gretchen scrabbled through her pockets and Remy tapped his foot impatiently, eager to get the hell out of there. "Black Dodge Neon, parked on level four." She tossed him the keys from her pocket.

Remy caught the keys deftly on reflex, clenching back a hiss of pain as the contact jarred his busted hand.

He looked at her skeptically, finally asking the question that had been nagging at him for the better part of his time spent locked in the room with Blond Doctor.

"Why are you helping me?"

She shrugged, but her eyes were shining with something that Remy had always thought to be a light only Charles Xavier possessed. "Because it was the right thing to do." She flashed him a smile before rolling her shoulders and wrapping her fingers around the door handle. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I feel a very distracting seizure coming on."

"Hey, doc," He gave as close to a smile as he could manage at the moment. "Thanks."

She grinned back. "Do me a favor and crash the car in a ditch somewhere. The insurance's worth more than the car is." She adjusted her sloppy bun before stepping out into the hall.

Remy listened for the screams of 'Doctor!' and 'Hold her down! Quick!' to start up before he slipped out of the room, heading silently in the opposite direction, dread and panic swelling in his stomach as he cut through the stairway.

What was he going to say to her?

...

Back behind in the room, Dr. Professor Michael Hanson MD shifted on his feet, awkward and shirtless.


	18. Little Lion Man

_This one goes out to all the ladies. And by ladies I mostly mean Margaret P. who has put up with my bullcrap for far longer than I expected her to. Seriously, she should get a prize or something. So, Margaret, sorry for monopolizing your lunch periods with inane chatter about stories I was writing, we should see if we can get Maggie's mom to make us some fajitas in celebration OF THE FINAL CHAPTER OF ONLY THE GOOD._

_

* * *

_

My inspiration:

**Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart  
Weep little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start  
Rate yourself and rape yourself, take all the courage you have left  
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head**

But it was not your fault but mine  
And it was your heart on the line  
I really f cked it up this time  
Didn't I, my dear?

**-Little Lion Man, Mumford and Sons**

* * *

Rogue wasn't all that surprised that she woke up alone simply because she was growing accustomed to the sensation; the only thing left of her mother was a spot on the bed that was quickly growing cool. She was getting used to being alone. It wasn't even so bad when she thought about it.

If she was alone for the rest of her life no one could hurt her again. And she was okay with that. (Not really, but she was going to pretend to be okay with that until she was actually okay with that.)

So, for the first time in three (was it four now? Longer?) days, Rogue slid out of bed and Rogue crawled into the shower and Rogue washed her hair and Rogue brushed her teeth and Rogue did her makeup and Rogue put on her clothes and Rogue hesitated for only a second before she opened his door and stepped out into the halls. Because she was fine. Beautifully, incredibly, amazingly okay.

If she couldn't convince herself she was okay, she could sure as hell convince everyone else.

* * *

"C'mon! C'mon!" Remy slammed his elbow into the steering wheel of the black Dodge Neon and decided that was an awful decision as his shoulder stretched beyond the safety zone of capacity. Hissing in pain he settled for bringing his knee up into the dashboard viciously and hoping that at some atomic level cars could feel pain. "Just move, dammit!" he shouted at nothing, because that was precisely the problem.

Nothing.

He'd checked under the hood, he had enough gas, steering, breaks and calibration where fine, ideal even, but Devil Car refused to start.

"_Was it just not enough?" _Remy shouted at the roof, though he wasn't really shouting at the roof. "_I had t' suffer more, huh?" _Car horns blared in an accusing manner from outside of the cab and Remy spared a moment from raving to shoot them and obscene gesture that hurt all the way up his arm, but made him feel a little better on the inside before his thoughts returned back to Devil Car, Hell Situation, and Screwed-Up Life.

His eyes burned and his arms went limp and he planted his forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

He couldn't win.

He was getting tired of trying.

Blinking back the feeling of acid in his red eyes, he sat up, because even if he didn't want to keep trying, he wanted to get home more.

A hardware store loomed in front of him on the other side of the street Devil Car had died next to, practically placed under his nose.

Lightning struck his brain.

An idea that was either genius or idiocy half formed in his mind, but he was going to roll with it because it was the only one he had.

So, he rolled with it, but it wasn't until he was man-handling a five-foot section of white fence into the back of Hellmobile did it really strike him how ridiculously _ludicrous _this idea was. After all, any plan that requires you to steal a five-foot section of fence in broad daylight just reeks of insanity.

However, on some level, he was a little proud of himself. Any old fool could _buy _something. It's mundane. It's average. Purchasing something doesn't make it yours. You didn't work for it. You didn't sweat or bleed for it. Stealing it though, stealing something with the skill and style that Remy did, it made it yours. It made it special.

"Alright, Devil Car." He mumbled into the steering wheel, his fingers tentatively poised over the key in the ignition, his large frame uncomfortably stuffed in the small cab. "I just wanna go home." He pleaded with Satan's Automobile. "I gotta girl there waitin' for me, and she can't beat the hell outta me f'r scarin' her so bad 'til you get me there, so _please."_

He turned the key.

And Lucifer's Neon purred to life.

* * *

They watched her move through the halls like she was some sort of china doll. Like it was a miracle she was even moving because she was so fragile. None of them dared touch her for fear she would shatter into a million pieces.

Rogue wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't.

Kitty, Kurt and Ororo were standing around the island counter in the kitchen, sipping on steaming mugs in absolute silence when she walked in. They stared at her.

"'Ro," She rasped out, her voice old and unused. "I was wondering if I could pick some flowers from the greenhouse."

"Of course," Ororo said slowly because, even though she absolutely detested anyone picking her flowers, she wasn't about to deny Rogue _anything _at that moment. "Anything you'd like, child." She smiled softly at the younger woman, daring to hope she would return it as a sign that she was doing well. Well, not 'well'. There was no way to be well after they'd planted the stone rose in the garden. No one was okay after the Stone Rose.

Rogue could only find it in herself to nod back, and then nod again in acknowledgement to Kurt and Kitty who were staring at her with a morbid sense of awe to see her functioning.

She turned out of the kitchen just fast enough that she only had to hear the beginning of their whispers and just slow enough to miss Scott's shoulder as he turned into the hall with her.

"Rogue," he caught her elbow to steady her as she stumbled a bit. "Are you alright?" He blurted before he could even think the question through.

_Was she alright? _Was he an _idiot? _

"I- I didn't mean-." He quickly attempted to amend.

"Peachy keen." She didn't look him in the eye as she removed her arm from his hand. "I was just headin' outside, if you'll excuse me."

Scott had been the first to notice it in the Danger Room, and he was the first to notice it now, as she slipped away from him down the hall and around the corner. That she wasn't alright. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Because Rogue and Gambit were like one unit, and when one of them went down, the other became an amputee.

* * *

Perhaps charging into the situation with nothing but a blind sense of enthusiasm and a stolen section of fence wasn't the best idea. Both of which seemed absolutely idiotic now that he was actually _here, _sitting in the drive, filled with so many conflicting emotions he felt like vomiting.

He sat for a few minutes more, attempting to regulate his breathing to no avail before he gave up and decided quick-like-a- band-aid would be the best approach (though there wasn't really any _good _way to approach this)

Remy gave a small cry of pain as he slipped on the wet gravel of The Institute's driveway and reached out to steady himself too fast for his shoulder to handle. He wrenched his arm back into his chest and lost his footing again and went slipping and stumbling to the ground, sending what felt like another gunshot through his chest. He could only lay on the wet drive for a few minutes, coughing and wheezing in pain and absolute, unadulterated terror.

He was here.

Remy caught the door handle of Devil Car and used it to haul himself into a semi-upright position, panting heavily and wishing he'd had enough forethought to steal some pain meds while he was still at the hospital. He only gave himself a minute to recover and check to see if he'd torn his stitches (He had.) before he set his jaw and hauled the fence out of the back of the car.

All the while little thoughts buzzed through his mind like angry bees, telling him that he'd screwed up too bad this time; that he couldn't fix it. That there was something different about the old mansion this time around. It didn't feel like a home anymore for some reason.

"It's gonna be fine." He growled to himself, dragging the fence behind him as he cut a path towards the front door. "It's gonna _fantastic._" He muttered as he clambered up the steps. A small spot of blood was leaking through his shirt. "It's gonna be goddamn _amaz—"_It finally struck him what was so different about the old place. What was so off. What was so unnatural.

There was a tombstone.

In the garden.

There was a tombstone in the garden.

He felt so numb he didn't even notice his feet were leading him towards the garden, the back of the fence still dragging behind him because he had forgotten how to unclench his fist.

There was a tombstone in the garden.

He didn't want to look, every fiber of his being was telling him _not to look_, but he had to.

_Remy LeBeau, Thief, scoundrel, and X-man. A good man, though he'd never admit it. _A rose was carved into the black granite underneath of his name.

_His name. _

"I ain't dead…" He mumbled to himself. "I… I'm not dead…"

But he had a tombstone. It had his name on it.

The world pitched forward and he fell to his knees, his eyes level with the calligraphy of his name. He felt sick to his stomach.

"I'm not dead." He said, a little louder this time as he reached forward to brush his fingers against the cold stone.

And then:

"_Who the fuck is in my grave!" _He screamed, furious all of the sudden, his fists pounded the ground, his throat was tight, his eyes burned, and he had a tombstone. He practically threw a fit. Retching and screaming and writhing and cursing on the ground, pulling out tufts of grass and his own hair and tearing at his own bandages and stitches and beating his fists against his own name until his knuckles were bloody. Because he had a grave. And he wasn't in it. He had a tombstone. And it wasn't his.

_They thought he was dead. _

He wept for himself and eventually he ran out of energy enough to curse everything he'd ever know. His sobs kept up until he was just so tired he couldn't maintain them anymore.

It was around then he noticed he wasn't alone.

At the sounds of someone else's crying he whipped around so quickly he could almost hear the stitches in his shoulder groan in protest.

She looked beautiful. Her mascara was smeared, she obviously hadn't slept in a few days, hadn't eaten in longer. Her eyes were rimmed in red, her hands were clothed in black, and a half dozen red roses lay forgotten and abandoned at her feet.

"Am I going crazy?" Rogue breathed shakily as she stared at him in wide eyed horror. He looked awful. His nose was angled oddly in a fashion that really only served to make him look more masculine, the purple bruises spreading underneath his eyes, making him look ageless and exhausted. She could see the white and red of bandages at the top edge of his collar and the dark discoloration of blood at the center of his chest. The knees of his pants were soaked through with mud and rain water. He was breathing wetly and _for some goddamn reason _there was a fence sprawled on the ground a few feet away from his grave.

"Rogue," Remy struggled to stand, using the stone rose as leverage.

She shrank away when he reached for her. "You're not real." Her lower lip trembled. "I watched…" Her voice broke. "All the blood- and the fire… and I saw- I saw the roof…" She choked on the words.

"Sh," He hushed her softly, edging closer like he would have a wild animal he was attempting to subdue a wild wolf. "I'm real. I'm here." He assured her, his arms and his hands held out in a placating gesture that he wasn't going to hurt her.

"You'll leave." She said into her hands.

"Never again." He told her.

She shook her head. "You lied to me before. You're doing it again. You'll leave. You're not real."

"_Chere," _He started.

"_Don't you call me that!" _She screamed. "Ah'm not about tah let you get away with anything else jus' 'cause you think you can charm your way outta mah bad books, you jackass! You _died _on me! I ain't _about _tah forget that! And _why the hell are you laughing at me!" _

"You're so pretty when you're angry," He coughed through the laughter and the tears before he added a "_Chere." _

Rogue turned red to her ears both with the compliment and her righteous fury. How _dare _he, ghost or manifestation of her insanity or whatever he was, _laugh at her. _She cocked back her fist and aimed it straight for his crooked nose.

"_Enfer!" _Remy stumbled backwards into his tombstone, clutching his nose which had started to bleed again. "_Merde, chere_! Can we at least wait 'til I get more meds 'fore you beat the shit outta me?" He hissed.

"I…I hit you." Rogue was staring at the blood on her knuckles, not at all listening to his pained rantings.

"Yeah, y' did." Remy wiped at his nose.

"But… you're not real." She frowned. "You… you… there was blood everywhere…"

Before he could really even comprehend what was going on she was on top of him, ripping at his shirt, jarring any and all of his scrapes burns and gashes.

"Ow!" He yelped as she yanked the black shirt over his head. "Go easy on me, _chere!"_

"Oh my god…" She gasped when she finally saw the mess of bloody bandages and purple flesh that made up his chest. Her trembling fingers reached forward and graced the spot where he'd been shot.

He winced in pain.

"Remy?" She looked up at him with wet eyes.

"_Chere._" He looked down at her.

And then she was sobbing.

"Ah! Rogue! _Non, non, non! _I'm fine, _chere_!" He hated it when she cried. "Look at me!" He held out his arm. "I'm fine!"

"You got shot!" She wailed as she sunk down to the ground, the mud seeping into her dress. "I thought you were dead, you jackass! _You left me!" _

"I didn't want to!" He fell to his knees next to her, folding her into his chest quickly before she could come to her senses and pull away from him.

"But you did!" She cried into his neck. "And you knew you would! You lied to me!"

"Never again." He repeated as he stroked her hair with his good hand. "I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know." He assured her.

There were a lot of things she wanted to know: Why he had lied to her. What he was trying to protect her from. How he survive a flaming roof collapsing on him. But there was only one thing she _needed _to know.

She mumbled something unintelligible into his neck.

"What was that?" He asked into her hair.

"Promise me you love me?"

He laughed and cried and both of them hurt. "I love you Anna Marie Darkholme." And she laughed and cried into his neck. And they laughed and cried together.

"Remy," Rogue sniffed and wiped at her eyes after a few minutes. "Why do you have a fence?"

"It's dumb." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Nothing you can say right now would be dumb." She pulled her knees up into her chest and propped her chin on them.

"I…" He coughed awkwardly.

"Oh, this has gotta be bad." She gave a watery laugh. "You're blushing!"

"Am not!" He said a little too quickly.

She grinned, wiping at her eyes and sniffing again, smearing mud all over her face.

"Alright," He cleared his throat. "I was kinda hopin' that maybe we could build the rest of it together."

"Rest of what?" She asked, looking over at the fence again. She had to look at it for a moment before it hit her like a ton of bricks.

It was a white picket fence.

He was giving her a white picket fence.

And she was sobbing again.

"Ah! Rogue!" Remy began to panic again. "You don' have to! I was jus'- I- I'm sorry!"

"Are you asking me to marry you with a fence?" She wailed.

"It's harder t' steal a diamond ring from a hardware store!" He said defensively. "Look, if you don' wanna—"

"Of course I want to!" She punched him in his good shoulder. "I just never thought you were gonna propose to me while we sat, covered in mud on top of your grave after I just spent a week thinking you were dead!"

"I guess it's not really a fairytale ending…" he considered.

"It's perfect." She sniffed. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, _chere." _He kissed her cheek, leaving a muddy smudge.

They both looked to The Institute.

"Is it bad in there?" Remy supposed the worst part was over with but he could already feel his ribs cracking with John's tackling embrace, a sore spot on his shoulder where Logan would smack him, a warm spot around his neck where Ororo would wrap her arms, a bruise where Pete would shake his hand awkwardly because he wouldn't know what else to do with himself, and a damp spot on his stomach where Jamie would sob into his shirt. Not to mention the countless other hugs and sobs and awkward _awkward _mutual head nods of acknowledgment he was going to have to endure.

"Let's not go in just yet."She gently pressed herself into his chest and he leaned back against his tombstone.

"Dance with me." He said.

"What?" A smile split her face.

"Dance with me." He repeated, tugging her upright before se could even think to protest. She laughed as he swayed with her, humming.

She laughed again as she recognized the tune and he twirled her around.

_"I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners are much more fun." _He sang to her. _"'Cause, darling, only the good die young" _

And this story ends with Remy LeBeau dancing on top of his own grave.

_

* * *

_

Well, that was emotionally draining. The song is Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel, also known as the song this story was named after.

_This is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that I don't own the x-men or something, but I'm too tired._

_Take the half a minute and tell me what you think? I love you guys a whole lot. All of you. Even the ones who didn't fav, alert, or review this (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE! I still love you!) _

_Nap time for Jamie Hook. _


End file.
